Double Knotted
by TinDog
Summary: In which Joe and Nancy are up to no good, family shows its true colors for better or for worse, and Frank and Callie say "I do" (again). (A sort-of sequel to "The Clue in the Inheritance.")
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One: Patience

 _Author's Note: This story is set a few months after the events of my last story, "The Clue in the Inheritance." If you haven't read that one, you may be a little confused. The important things to know are that Frank and Callie have already had a private courthouse wedding but are planning to go ahead with their previously-planned larger wedding, and that Callie's parents do not approve of her relationship with Frank._

"Doctor Hargrove to the cardiac wing. Doctor Hargrove, please report to the cardiac wing."

Callie Hardy sighed and replaced her magazine in the rack beside her chair. Between the public address system's constant, jarring interruptions and the whirling of her own thoughts, her ability to concentrate was shot all to hell today. Even the photo-heavy celebrity gossip rags which comprised most of the waiting room's selection of literature could not hold her attention.

"Okay, baby. I'm done. I just spent the last half hour reading the same paragraph over and over," she said ruefully, giving her rounded abdomen a gentle pat. "They've paged that doctor a lot this afternoon, haven't they? I wonder if he's the one helping your grandpa."

The baby she carried gave a series of fluttering kicks, as though in answer to her words. Callie smiled, her worries vanishing for the moment. No matter how rough the rest of the day had been, those movements were always a source of pure joy to her.

"Thanks, little one," she murmured, patting her belly again. "You're good company."

A passing nurse paused to smile at her. "Aren't you the cutest, talking to that baby bump! Boy or girl?"

"It's a boy," Callie said, smiling back at the older woman.

"Congratulations. Are you due this fall?"

"August, actually."

The nurse's eyebrows shot up. "Are you serious, girl? He's a little peanut, then! My babies were all chunky...and so was I," she added, laughing. "I've been a nurse for 35 years and I'm still amazed at how different every pregnancy is. You look beautiful, hon. Good luck with that sweet boy."

"Thank you!" Callie said.

The nurse moved on, and Callie settled back in to wait. The happy glow kindled by the nurse's kindness made time move along a little more quickly for a little while; but all too soon it faded, giving place once more to dullness.

Callie shifted in her chair, searching for a position that would offer a little more support for her back. She hated to think of her own comfort at a time like this. What was a little discomfort compared to a heart attack? But the fact remained that she was increasingly uncomfortable. For one thing, she was chilly. Her pretty, sleeveless top, which had been perfect back when she thought she was going to spend the afternoon driving around to meet with clients in the June heat, was not sufficient for this over-air-conditioned lobby. On top of that, her back ached, her stomach was growling, and- if she was completely honest with herself- she was beginning to feel restless and even anxious. Though Callie was by nature a patient person, she was quickly approaching her limit.

"I wish someone would tell me what's going on," she said, more to herself this time than to the baby. "How long have I been here, now?" She glanced at the clock over the reception desk, calculating the time in her head. _Three hours, forty-five minutes._ That meant it had been more than four hours since her first and last communication with her mother that day- a hasty, panicked phone call in which Margaret had simply said that her father was having a heart attack and told her which hospital had sent an ambulance. The idea of texting her mother crossed her mind, now, as it had several times already; but as she had each time before, Callie quelled the urge. Surely if there were any news to tell, her mother would have told her by now. Adding stress by demanding updates would not help the situation.

Callie looked at the clock again. _Three hours, forty-seven minutes, thirty-three seconds...Three hours, forty-eight minutes..._

She had grown to hate that clock over the course of the afternoon. She hated its bland, pale, moon face and its mockingly slow hands. Even the second hand seemed to stop and think before every half-hearted forward twitch. Watching the damn thing was like having an itch she couldn't scratch. Callie wrenched her eyes away from it, shuddering, and drew in a long, deep breath to quell her rising panic.

 _Frank is coming_ , she told herself. _You're not going to sit here alone for eternity. And you can always text one of the girls, or Joe, if you need someone._ She reached into her purse and closed her hand around the solid shape of her cell phone. Just knowing she could reach someone if she needed to was comfort enough. She did not feel the need to actually type a message right now.

Something Nancy had taught her, a technique for reducing anxiety, came to mind. _Use your senses to ground you,_ Nancy had said. _Forget your brain for a moment and focus on your body._

"Okay," Callie whispered. She could do that. Sight, smell, taste, touch, hearing. Smell... that one was a bad idea. The antiseptic odor of the hospital had been making her feel slightly nauseated all afternoon. Taste was not applicable. Touch...she put both hands on her belly again and was rewarded with a gentle kick. Callie closed her eyes, focusing on the sounds in the vicinity: the hum of the air conditioner, a sudden laugh from a room down the hall, a squeaking wheel on a passing cart.

"That just leaves sight," she murmured, after a minute, opening her eyes again. She blinked in the fluorescent glare and looked around the room, taking stock of the ugly, modern furniture in the waiting area, the cheap paintings, the potted plants with their shiny artificial leaves. Nothing in the room appealed to her artistic nature.

 _If I were the patient, here, I would not find anything in this environment inspiring or healing._ The thought made her pause.

 _Do I really want to give birth here? Maybe it's worth re-starting that argument,_ she thought wryly, remembering how stubbornly opposed Frank had been to the idea of a home birth. He would never change his mind about that. Callie knew him well enough to recognize an un-crossable line when she saw it. But maybe she could talk him into visiting the new birth center over in River Heights as a compromise.

Callie pulled her phone out of her purse. In reality, she knew, changing their plans at this stage of the pregnancy might not be a feasible option- but a little research could not hurt anything, and it sounded like an excellent way to pass the time.

Though she quickly became immersed in a comparison of patient reviews for both facilities, Callie kept one eye on the door. As soon as she caught a glimpse of a tall, dark-haired man in a Bayport Police uniform she abandoned her research project and ran forward to meet her husband.

"Frank!" she cried.

Callie had learned years ago that hugging Frank while he was in uniform was never going to be comfortable. Between the name badge and the radio, the buttons and the holster, there was simply no good place to rest against him. Today, though, she did not care about physical comfort. She threw herself at him like a drowning woman catching hold of a life preserver. And Frank understood. Though he was rarely demonstrative in public, he wrapped his arms around her now without a moment's hesitation and held her tightly until she had gathered enough strength to step back.

"I'm so glad you're here," she said simply.

Frank reached for her hand and took it, twining his fingers through hers. "I'm sorry I couldn't get here any sooner," he told her. "The chief needed some paperwork wrapped up before he could let me go."

"It's okay. There's nothing you could have done here, anyway."

"That's not true. I could have waited with you," he said, his eyes dark and serious. He gave her hand a squeeze and led her over to the couch in the waiting area.

"How is he doing?" he asked gravely.

Callie shook her head. "You know as much as I do. He had a heart attack. Mom's still back there with him."

"And nobody has updated you at all?" Frank frowned. "I'll go ask a nurse."

"No, wait." Callie had not released his hand. She tugged it lightly, asking him to sit back down. "I don't know if I want to know," she admitted.

"You'll have to know sooner or later."

"Please, Frank, indulge me. I'm not in the mood to be logical."

"Okay. If that's what you want, we can wait."

Frank sat, wrapping an arm around her, and Callie leaned back with a sigh. Maybe it was the couch, which was a lot more comfortable than it looked, or maybe it was just having Frank there with her, but she was feeling better now than she had all afternoon.

"I brought you something," Frank said suddenly, reaching into his pocket. "Hold out your hand."

"What is it?"

"Just give me your hand."

Callie complied, feigning more nervousness than she actually felt. It was not as if it were Joe asking. Joe would have some kind of mischief planned, as he had demonstrated a few times over the years they had known each other. Frank, she trusted. And sure enough, the object he dropped into her palm was both harmless and familiar.

"My lucky mood ring?" Callie said, delighted but slightly confused. "Where did you even find this? I'd almost forgotten all about it."

"It was in your jewellery box," Frank said. "Kind of wedged in at the back."

"Thank you," Callie said, kissing him impulsively before slipping the ring onto her finger. The band felt tight on her ring finger, so she tugged it off and moved it to her pinky finger. "You always hated this thing. Why did you bring it?"

Frank shrugged. "I still think it's complete bull. But I knew it would make you smile."

"Aww. Thanks, sweetie." Callie held her hand up, tilting it to admire the silly trinket. She and Iola had won matching rings at the county fair the summer before they started high school. While neither girl had been truly superstitious, it had become a tradition for them to wear their "lucky" rings to things like final exams, their boyfriends' football games, and the drama club performances in which Iola frequently played leading roles in front of sets which Callie had painted. Iola had not been wearing hers the day she died. Callie wondered, suddenly, where that ring was now. Did Joe have it, or was it still in her old bedroom at the Mortons'?

"That really makes you feel better," Frank commented, watching her face.

Callie laughed. "It really does. It holds a lot of memories. I still say it helped you win that championship junior year."

"That was hard work, and having a good team, and Tony being in exactly the right place at the right time," Frank said.

"So, luck," Callie teased.

"No way. We practiced after school every day so Tony would know what the right place was when he saw it," Frank said adamantly.

Callie decided to change the subject. She knew Frank could argue this all day. "Hold on," she said. "You stopped by the house, but you didn't get changed?"

"No. I was in a hurry." Frank frowned, slightly, and she did not think it was because of her ring.

"Penny for your thoughts," she said. "You look worried."

"I am worried. We still haven't heard any news about your dad."

Callie studied his face. "I don't think that's all that's on your mind."

"What do you always say to me? Stop detecting at me," Frank said lightly.

"I'm not detecting. I just know you. Spill it," Callie demanded.

Frank sighed. "Okay. When I stopped by the house, Joe and Nancy were there."

"At our house?"

"Yeah."

Callie had to ask. "With their clothes on, right?"

"Yeah," Frank said again. "But they looked guilty. They're up to something."

"They're probably just finalizing plans for the bachelor and bachelorette parties they keep threatening to give us," Callie said, dismissing the matter. But Frank did not look convinced.

"I don't think it's that simple. I am going to get to the bottom of this." His face darkened with determination.

Callie knew Frank was observant and tenacious and not likely to let this go until he had solved it. She also knew that if his instincts told him Joe was up to something, he was probably right. On the other hand, she trusted that Joe and Nancy would never do anything malicious.

"I don't have a single extra scrap of energy to use on wondering what those two have planned," she told Frank. "Not right now, anyway. Maybe after the wedding, and after we hear about Dad- "

Her phone went off, suddenly, interrupting her mid-sentence and making her jump. Frank grabbed her purse off the nearby chair and held it open so she could grab the device.

"Speak of the devil," she said, showing him the caller ID on the screen before she answered. "Hi, Joe."

Nancy's voice came through the speaker, concerned and apologetic. "It's me, Cal. I'm sorry to bother you right now. I just wanted to check on you."

"Me too!" Joe called in the background.

"Are you all right? Do you want me to come keep you company, or bring you anything?" Nancy offered.

"I'm okay. Frank's here with me," Callie said. "But thank you so much for the offer, Nan. You guys are the best."

"Don't say that so loud. Joe's ego does not need the boost," Nancy said dryly.

Frank had leaned in close and was listening intently. "Are they still at our house? Ask them if they're still at our house," he whispered loudly.

"Babe. Let it go," Callie whispered back, covering the phone with her hand.

"Can you repeat that? I think we have a bad connection," Nancy said.

"I'm sorry, that was me whispering at Frank. He wants me to ask if you're still at our house," Callie said.

Nancy laughed. "I had a feeling he'd be suspicious."

"Tell him I hid a clue somewhere in the house, but he's never going to find it," Joe chimed in.

Frank leaned closer and spoke directly into the phone. "Do you really want to play this game right now, Joe?"

"Okay, boys, give it a rest," Callie said. She swapped her phone to her other ear, away from Frank. "Nan, please tell me you're not doing something awful. I don't have the energy for this."

"I promise we are not doing anything awful," Nancy said. "We love you. Let me know if you need anything, okay?"

"I will," Callie said gratefully.

Frank handed her purse over so she could drop her phone back in. She set the bag beside her and leaned against his shoulder again. "It's so nice of them to offer to come," she said.

Frank nodded. "Can you imagine if they did, though? They're terrible at waiting. Joe would be down in the ER by now, trying to apply for a job as an ambulance driver, and Nancy would have wandered down into the morgue and discovered a secret passage."

"You're right," Callie said, giggling. "But it was still nice of them to offer. Bess offered, too."

"We have a good family," Frank said.

"We do."

They were silent for a few minutes.

"Thank you for being here," Callie said softly. She felt a sudden wave of love and gratitude for this man who cared enough to sit here with her, offering comfort and support and never once complaining about the wait.

"Where else should I be right now?" Frank asked. "What kind of husband would I be if I didn't drop everything to be with you when you need me?"

Callie swallowed a sob. "Still," she said, her voice wavering. "Dad has never been anything but awful to you, but here you are anyway, waiting to see if he's going to be okay."

"Don't cry," Frank said, brushing away a tear with his thumb. "Oh, Cal, don't cry. Your dad is going to be fine. The doctors here are excellent. They've patched me and Joe back together more times than I can count."

Callie smiled a little.

"There," Frank said approvingly. "That's my girl." He let go of her, suddenly, and delved into his other pocket. "I almost forgot. This should help you keep that smile on your face."

"You brought snacks?"

"Not just any snacks. Mrs. Morton made these especially for you," he said, presenting the little bag with a flourish.

"Snickerdoodles!" Callie said happily, helping herself to a cookie. "That woman is a saint. How did you know I'd be hungry?"

"Oh, just a guess," Frank said, straight-faced. "It's kind of your default state these days."

"And whose fault is that, Frank Hardy?"

"Mine," Frank said amiably. He reached over and placed a hand on Callie's belly. "Speaking of which, how is our little mistake doing today?"

"I thought we agreed we had to break the habit of joking about that," Callie protested. "If that ever slips out in front of the poor kid, his ego will be ruined forever."

"Okay. How is _Weatherby_ doing today?" Frank said, stressing the name.

"He has a real name, you know," Callie told him. "You don't have to use that silly nickname anymore."

"I don't feel right using it yet."

"And he thinks I'm the superstitious one!" Callie said with mild exasperation, addressing a nearby potted plant.

"That's different," Frank said.

"I see no difference," Callie said. "Move your hand up a little and you'll feel him better."

Frank slid his hand obediently upward. Callie could tell the moment he felt his son's movements, because his face took on a look of pure awe. He pressed his hand more firmly against the spot and bowed his head, focusing his entire awareness on the sensation.

"I can't get over how incredible that is," he whispered finally, looking up at her. His eyes were suspiciously bright. "You're so lucky you get to feel him move all the time."

"You can carry the next one," Callie murmured back, trying to lighten the mood before she started to cry again.

"I'm not sure technology will ever advance that far," Frank began. He was interrupted by the approach of a nurse.

"Ms. Shaw?" he called, striding toward the waiting area. Callie's head and Frank's both jerked up. Callie was on her feet before she even realized it- no small feat, these days, as rising usually took a little planning.

"Mrs. Hardy," she corrected automatically, and immediately felt annoyed with herself. That was hardly what mattered at the moment. "How is my dad?"

"He's resting comfortably. He's going to make a full recovery."

Callie felt all the tension drain from her body. She leaned back against Frank, who had stood up behind her. "Oh, thank God," she whispered. "Can I see him?"

The man hesitated. He looked uncomfortable. "Your mother asked me to tell you that you can go home."

"Did she specifically tell me not to visit?"

"No."

"Then I want to see him."

He nodded. "I would feel the same in your situation. Please, follow me."

Margaret Shaw had been sitting by her husband's bedside, staring into space, her hands folded quietly in her lap. When she caught sight of Callie and Frank in the doorway, however, she practically leaped up to intercept them.

"Out," she whispered harshly, gesturing for them to go back into the hallway.

"What's going on?" Callie whispered back. "Is he sleeping? We promise we won't wake him up."

Margaret looked around for the nurse, who had faded away discreetly. Then she turned toward Callie, folding her arms defensively across her middle. She looked limp and grey, like a worn-out pillowcase, but when she spoke her voice was brisk. "I don't think he needs to see you today."

"But I want to," Callie began. Margaret shook her head vigorously, cutting her off.

"I said I don't think it's a good idea."

Callie felt bewildered. "Why did you call me down here if you didn't want me to see him?"

"I didn't know how serious it was. I wanted you to be close in case- well, in case. But it didn't come to that."

"Mom!" Callie protested. "Are you saying you thought he might die?"

"He had a heart attack! I had every reason to think he might die!"

"But he didn't," Callie said in a small voice. "Please, Mom. I'd like to see him."

"No."

Frank stepped in, his calm voice a soothing contrast to the women's heated exchange. "Are you staying here tonight, Mrs. Shaw?"

"Yes."

"Is there anything we can bring you?" he offered. "Dinner, an overnight bag, a book?"

"I'm fine," she said stiffly. "The nurse is going to bring me some supper."

Callie broke in again. "Please let me stay with you. You shouldn't have to be here alone."

For a moment, Margaret's face seemed to soften. Then she shook her head, and it was as if a door had slammed closed between them. Callie did not miss the way her mother's glance had dropped to her belly. The look, brief as it was, felt like a physical blow.

 _It always comes back to that,_ Callie thought bitterly. Her mother had been increasingly uncomfortable around her as the pregnancy had become more obvious. Callie noticed that she seemed both fascinated and repulsed, tender and harsh. Margaret seemed to be fighting hard to maintain her detachment from this child and all he represented.

"Please," Callie said again. But Margaret had made up her mind.

"I'm fine," she said again. "There isn't anything you can do here unless you've been secretly going to medical school." The words stung a little, as she had meant them to, with the barb of broken trust. _You crossed the line once. Who knows what else you're hiding from me?_ , was the subtext.

"Besides," Margaret added. "I know you both have to work in the morning. Go home. I'll let you know if anything else happens."

Callie was trembling, now, with worry, frustration and hurt. She felt Frank's arm go around her. Then he reached out with his free hand and patted her mother's shoulder, offering comfort even to this woman who denied it to herself.

"Please let us know if you change your mind. We're here for you," he said sincerely.

Margaret nodded, her lips pursed.

Callie did not trust herself to speak. She stepped forward and gave her mother a hug, pretending she neither saw nor felt the stiffness of Margaret's posture. Her body and the embrace itself felt as brittle as ice.

"Come on, Cal," Frank said gently. "Let's go home."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two: Introspection

 _Thank you so much to those of you who are reading, and especially to Cherylann Rivers, max2013, Red Hardy, and Guest for your lovely reviews. I was a little nervous about branching out into Frank's and Callie's perspective, so I really appreciate the encouragement!_

Frank took Callie's hand as they exited through the hospital's automatic sliding doors.

"I already know your answer, but I have to ask," he said, squinting at her. His eyes were still adjusting to the bright sunlight. "Will you let me drive you home? We can come back for your car later, or ask Dad or Joe to pick it up..."

He let the sentence trail off. Callie was already shaking her head, her blonde ponytail swishing against her shoulders.

"No, thanks. I could use some drive time."

Frank nodded. He knew that Callie had always enjoyed driving and found it relaxing. "Okay," he said. "I'll walk you to your car, at least."

"I'd like that."

Callie led the way out across the parking lot. Heat shimmered on the hoods of parked cars and radiated up from the pavement. Frank blinked, squinted again, and reached for his sunglasses. Beside him, Callie sighed happily and tipped her face up, eyes fluttering closed for a moment, basking in the sunlight.

"That's better," she murmured.

"The warmth, or getting out of this place?" Frank asked.

"Both. Though it'll be even nicer to be home."

"You'll be there in just a few minutes. If we could find your car, anyway. Where'd you park? Nebraska?" Frank teased.

"Almost!" Callie told him. "I probably should have taken the time to hunt for a closer space. It wasn't a priority at the time."

Frank shrugged. "No big deal. Just let me know if you need a piggyback ride," he offered, and was pleased when she actually giggled.

"I'm tempted to call your bluff," she said. "You would be so embarrassed if I hopped on your back in the middle of the parking lot, and you know it."

Frank jogged ahead the last few yards and flung open her car door with a sweeping gesture. "Your chariot, milady. I guess we'll have to make a spectacle of ourselves some other time."

"Or never, if you get your way," Callie said, smiling up at him.

"Or never," Frank repeated, nodding. He leaned in to kiss her. "Drive safe," he said, the words none the less meaningful for being automatic.

"You too," Callie told him. "I'll see you at home."

He closed her door and backed off a few steps, waiting for her to actually drive off before he walked away. Callie lingered for a moment, sipping from an undoubtedly warm bottle of water, checking her phone, and adjusting the radio before shifting the car into gear. Frank wished she wouldn't do that. He had told her time and time again that women sitting in parked cars are easy targets. It was hard for him not to worry about her when he knew the statistics, when he came in contact with the grittier side of reality every day at work.

Finally she gave him a wave and was gone. Frank turned and headed for his own car, his long strides eating up the distance.

 _I could use some drive time, too,_ he thought, frowning. Being around Callie's parents always stirred up a cloud of negative emotions for him, too, and he knew he needed to lay those to rest before he got home. Callie was going to be physically and emotionally worn out; she would need someone calm to lean on.

Frank had parked directly in front of the building's main entrance, in a position with no surrounding areas of cover and plenty of pedestrian activity. Still, he scanned the area as he approached. While he was not currently involved in any dangerous cases and had no reason to feel especially suspicious, old habits died hard.

Everything looked clear. Deep in thought, Frank slid behind the wheel of his car, inserted the key- and jumped violently when a man's voice boomed out, speaking in Russian.

"Извините. Этот поезд едет в Москву?"

Frank had his seatbelt unbuckled and his hand on his gun in a split second, ready to meet whatever threat had arisen. And then, just as quickly as his instinct had taken over, his rational mind re-asserted itself.

 _A CD, you idiot! It's just a CD._

"Нет, этот поезд идет в-" the voice continued, its calm, bland inflection a strange contrast to Frank's surging adrenaline. He jabbed the pause button on the CD player hard enough to send a jolt of pain up his finger and sat back, taking a long, deep breath. He had been checking this exact set of Russian language CDs from the Bayport Library at least twice a year for several years now, to brush up on the language during his commute, and he had never before mistaken the recorded voice for an intruder. Today's encounter with Callie's mother, on top of the the stress of the impending wedding, must have had him more on edge than he had realized.

Justified or not, Frank did not like excuses. He was still feeling annoyed with himself when he shifted his car into reverse and backed smoothly out of his parking space. For a moment he considered turning the CD back on, continuing with the lesson out of sheer stubbornness. But he dismissed the impulse. Being bilingual looked good on his resume and afforded him a great deal of personal pride, but it was not his top priority this afternoon. He needed to think, in English, about Callie and her parents.

Traffic was thick and getting thicker by the minute as everyone began heading home from work. Ahead of him, a car with out-of-state plates and a constantly-blinking turn signal swerved into his lane, then back out of it. Frank slowed and hung back, unwilling to risk being too close should the driver decide he needed to be in the other lane after all. By the time the other driver had figured things out, the light ahead had turned red. A mother and young daughter hurried across the crosswalk, holding hands and talking animatedly. The woman smiled down at her daughter, radiating pure love and affection; and Frank, watching, tried not to remember the hardness in Margaret's eyes, the pain on Callie's face when she tried to hug her mother at the hospital.

The light turned green. Frank stepped on the gas, easing his car along with the flow of traffic.

 _Callie is too close to the situation_ , he thought. That was part of the problem. Her perspective was skewed, her years of love and rejection, resentment and devotion, forming a lens which distorted more than it revealed. Frank, on the other hand, did have perspective- and he also had a good instinct for human nature, an instinct he and Joe had made a point of honing over the years.

Frank clicked his turn signal, indicating a right turn. He had studied Charles and Margaret for years, applying his instinct and whatever psychology he had learned; and he believed that he understood why Margaret was the way she was. Her own nature and her environment had dovetailed in exactly the right way to bring out all the worst facets of her personality. Callie's own sweet and accommodating nature, so like and yet so unlike her mother's malleable and servile one, bore witness to what Margaret might have been, given the proper guidance. Had she married a different man, someone less overbearing, she might have had a chance of becoming a sweet and nurturing mother. Her weakness could have matured into a gentle spirit, and her selfishness could have expanded to include a passionate interest in her child's well-being. Instead, under Charles's leadership, she had become what she was today: a cold, manipulative, narrow-minded woman. And the worst of it was that she truly believed that everything she had ever done to Callie was for the girl's own good.

The needle of the gas gauge, which had fallen to just above the quarter-tank mark, suddenly caught Frank's attention. He hesitated for a moment, torn between his desire to get home to Callie and his habit of never leaving the tank below half-full. Habit won out. He pulled into the next gas station and filled up, waving to a buddy at the next pump.

"What's up, Dan?"

"Hey-hey, it's Hardy!" Dan yelled back cheerfully, passing a tray of coffees and a bag of chips to his partner inside the squad car. "You off for the day? Lucky bastard."

"That I am," Frank said cheerfully. "But I'll relax so much better knowing you're still out here watching for moving violations."

"Bastard," Dan said again, without rancor. He slid halfway behind the wheel of his car, leaning out to continue talking to Frank. "Take it easy, man. And in case I don't see you before then, enjoy the honeymoon!" He waggled his eyebrows at Frank for a moment and started to say something more before his partner, Jen, reached over and yanked him unceremoniously into the car. Frank laughed as they drove away.

The pump made an ominous rasping, buzzing sound, but it managed to spit out his receipt after a few moments. Frank folded it, stuck it neatly into his wallet, and got back into the car.

The CD player came back to life automatically when the engine started. "Нет, этот поезд-"

This time Frank ejected the CD and slotted it impatiently back into its case before pulling smoothly back out onto the road.

"Where was I?" he mused aloud. _Right. Margaret._ He shook his head dismissively. He understood Margaret and could even feel some compassion for her. His feelings toward Charles Shaw, on the other hand...well, those were more complicated.

Frank shook his head again. He could hear Joe's voice, as clear as if the younger man were sitting in his passenger seat right now. _Complicated, Frank? What the hell is complicated about this? Charles Shaw is a damn bully, plain and simple. The only complicated thing here is me trying to understand why you haven't used his smug face as a punching bag yet._

The idea was tempting. While Frank lacked his brother's short fuse, he did have a temper of his own- a deep, slow-burning anger which could smolder forever once kindled. And Frank had never tolerated bullies. There had been times when his fists had physically ached with the strain of not dealing with Charles the way he had dealt with the few boys who had dared to pick on Joe or Chet when they were kids. Every time he saw fresh hurt in Callie's eyes the impulse grew stronger.

But all it took to rein in his desire for violence was one name: Callie.

Callie trusted him. And Callie, despite the emotional abuse she had suffered at their hands, still loved her parents. As much as the whole situation made Frank's sense of justice and his protective nature cry out in mutual outrage, he knew that he must never cross the line into open antagonism.

Years ago, when Frank and Callie had recently begun dating, Frank had come home from a date restless and agitated with anger over something he had heard Callie's father say to her. His mother had drawn the whole story out of him. Then she had looked him in the eye and told him something that had echoed in his mind ever since:

"If you care about Callie, you're going to have to be the bigger man."

Laura had looked terribly sad, which had confused Frank at the time. Now, he understood what she had known all along: that as much as it was going to hurt, watching Callie waste her love on these people, it would only hurt worse if Frank tried to change things. If Frank had attempted to turn Callie away from her parents, he would have been assuming a position of control over her life just as surely as Charles had assumed control over Margaret's.

 _I am the Man, and I Know Better,_ is what the gesture would have communicated. _I'm just looking out for you. Let me fix you. Let me decide how you should live your life._ The fact that Frank honestly meant well would have made no difference. Charles genuinely believed he knew what was best for Margaret, too.

Not for the first time, or the last, Frank breathed a fervent thanks to whatever benevolent fate had given him such a wise mother. He was sure that Laura's words had saved him from leading Callie into a gentler version of her parents' codependent marriage. Without those words of caution, he knew he would have begged Callie to cut ties with her parents, hoping to spare her pain. Callie, who had been half in awe of him at the beginning of their relationship, would have obeyed. And that would have sealed their fate. It sounded dramatic, but Frank knew it was true. Frank, a natural leader, would have fallen quickly into the habit of making their decisions. And Callie, a natural follower, would have allowed it. They might have believed themselves to be happy, but neither of them would have grown to their full potential.

Thanks to Laura's advice, however, Frank had backed off and allowed Callie to use her struggle as the catalyst for growth. He had stood by her, offering his love and support and cheering her on as she learned to make her own decisions and pursue her own talents. And they were both better people for it: stronger, more compassionate, able to relate to one another as equals and partners in everything.

Frank turned onto his road, waving as he drove past his parents' house. Fenton, who was doing some work in the flower bed out front, waved back.

The gesture drew Frank's attention to his own wedding band. Seven months in and it still felt brand new on his finger- new, and a little strange, and heavy with the weight of all it stood for. Frank tapped it thoughtfully against the steering wheel and made a promise to himself.

 _Callie knows exactly what her parents are, now. If she still wants to try to repair the relationship, I'll stand by and help her handle it. But we are not going to let them hurt Miles. One step over the line and we will cut them out of our lives for good._

He felt good about that, good enough to repeat it aloud, in Russian: "Мы будем защищать нашего сына." _We will protect our son._ His child would not be manipulated or controlled or made to doubt himself. His child would be safe.

"Jumping the gun a little, Hardy," Frank told himself wryly as he pulled into his own driveway. For now, the more immediate concern was making sure he and Callie made it through to the wedding on Sunday with minimal emotional damage.

 _Charles could not have picked a worse time for this_ , he thought uncharitably. _I'd accuse him of using his health to make Callie feel guilty, but that's more Margaret's style._

He parked the car and took a deep breath. He was feeling calmer, with renewed resolve and clarity. All the ghosts of past resentment and heartache, which tended to get up and walk when he encountered the Shaws, were laid to rest again. Frank pocketed his keys. He was ready to go in and see Callie.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three: Home

Frank skirted around Callie's car and headed for the house, locking his own car behind him with the key fob as he went. His brother's truck was gone. The heavy, rich smell of fresh-cut grass hanging in the still June air was the only hint that Joe had been there at all.

Why had Joe mowed his lawn? Had he and Nancy come over solely to do yardwork, or was the good deed their way of balancing out whatever mischief they were concocting?

 _Definitely the latter,_ Frank thought, remembering Joe's challenge over the phone. He resolved to make a thorough search for the clue, whatever it was, as soon as he was sure Callie was all right. He took the porch steps two at a time, suddenly impatient to get inside.

"Callie? I'm home!" he called, closing the door behind him.

For a moment, there was no reply. Then Callie stepped out of the kitchen, phone pressed to her ear, to wave hello.

"It's your mom," she whispered, cupping a hand over the phone.

Frank nodded. "Tell her I said hi," he whispered back, hiding his impatience. He wanted to wrap his wife in his arms and kiss her until the tension evident in her posture faded away. Instead he settled for brushing a kiss to her cheek before walking away to give her some privacy for her conversation.

In the bedroom, Frank locked his gun in the gun safe before stripping methodically down to his briefs, hanging up his uniform pants, lining up his shoes neatly in the closet, and depositing the shirt, undershirt, and socks in the hamper. He sighed. Shedding his uniform always helped him to let go of whatever had happened at work that day. Even on days like today, which had been fairly mundane until he had received Callie's call about her father, he could feel a weight of responsibility roll off his shoulders as he undressed.

Callie's voice went on rising and falling in the other room. Frank heard a short laugh, and he found himself smiling in response. His mother always knew the right thing to say in these situations; it was good that she had called.

"As long as they're going to keep talking, I'm going to look around," he murmured to himself suddenly. "If I were Joe, where would I hide something in here?"

Working quickly, Frank made a quick search of the master bedroom and its adjoining bathroom. These rooms, like the rest of the house, were streamlined and uncluttered. There were few hiding places. Frank poked around anyway, running through his mental list of every hiding place Joe had ever devised to stash things at home growing up or later, on assignment. After several minutes he was out of ideas, with nothing to show for his efforts but 78 cents in change and a crumpled bra which he had found wedged between the mattress and the bed frame. He tossed the bra into the laundry hamper with a grin- he was pretty sure he remembered how it had ended up down there. Then he turned his attention back to the coins. Although further scrutiny did not reveal any forgeries, tampering, or hidden messages, he set them carefully on his dresser, where he could find them again if he needed them.

 _I knew it wouldn't be that easy_ , he thought, pulling on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt.

He returned to the kitchen, the carpet's nubby texture giving way to cool, smooth tile beneath his bare feet. Callie was sitting at the kitchen table, still on the phone. She caught his eye and mouthed "I'm sorry" when he entered.

Frank shook his head back at her. "No problem." Crossing to the sink, he ran himself a glass of water, which he carried out through the living room, through the sliding glass doors there, and onto the deck.

The sun was beginning to dip lower, now, and the heat which enveloped him as he stepped out of the cool house was gentler and more welcoming than it had been earlier in the day. Frank walked over to stand at the railing, sipping his water and surveying the neatly-landscaped back yard. Frank was particular about the way he mowed it, but he had to concede that Joe, or perhaps Nancy, had done an excellent job. The freshly-clipped expanse of grass lay cool and green in the evening light, offering its vitality as balm to the weary soul. Frank's gaze meandered from the restrained vitality of the lawn to the exuberant beauty of the flowers Callie had planted along the side of the house, and he felt a sudden surge of mingled gratitude and amazement. Wedding stress and familial tension aside, life was incredibly sweet these days. Living with Callie, and building a family with her, was even better than he had always imagined it would be.

 _It's almost too good to be true,_ he thought, not for the first time. He traced his free hand along the rough, sun-warmed wood of the railing, seeking reassurance from its solidity. This was no dream- it was a real life in a real home, a home which Frank was very proud of. Though they had only been living here for six months, he already felt rooted to this piece of land. He and Callie had put countless hours of work into the place, driven by Callie's nesting instinct and Frank's desire for order. They had re-finished the kitchen cabinets, pulled up a worn carpet, re-tiled the master bathroom, and broken in the brand-new gardening tools Fenton had given them while taming the jungle the realtor had optimistically referred to as a yard. They had worked together to furnish and decorate the place, too. Callie had joked about them making a good design team, and she was right: the solid wooden furniture and darker color palette Frank preferred gave the rooms a timeless gravity, while Callie's contributions- artwork, her own and other's; a multitude of potted plants; playful floral curtains; and cheerful throw pillows- lightened and softened the overall effect. The result was classic but gracious and comfortable, a space they both enjoyed coming home to and a space into which they enjoyed welcoming friends and family.

 _Friends and family,_ Frank thought again, and suddenly he had come full circle. _Joe. Right. It's probably not out here, but just in case..._ He set his glass down and began a quick, half-hearted search of the deck.

"Joe got in your head again," Callie said suddenly from the doorway.

Frank, who had crawled under the patio table to check the underside, popped his head up. "More like under my skin," he said. The words came out in a half-growl tempered with affection. He was a little frustrated with his brother's decision to play games right now, and with his own participation.

"Did you find anything?" Callie asked, stepping out onto the deck and closing the door behind her.

"No. It was a long shot anyway. He specifically said he hid it in the house."

"And the deck doesn't count?"

"I doubt it. He's pretty literal." He crawled a little deeper to check under the last chair. "Have you heard anything more from your mom?" he called.

"No. And I probably won't."

Frank scooted out from beneath the table, dusted himself off, and went to her, finally wrapping his arms around her the way he had wanted to when he first got home. Up close, she looked tired and almost wistful. The delicate skin beneath her eyes was dark.

"How are you?" he asked, cupping her face and smoothing the shadow below her eye with his thumb, as though it were a smudge he could wipe away.

Callie sighed. "I'm fine."

"The drive didn't help?"

"Not this time. I just keep thinking about him." She shook her head slightly, not dismissing the subject so much as indicating that she was still sorting her thoughts. Frank held his tongue. She would talk when she was ready.

Callie shifted in his arms, turning out so that she, too, faced the yard. She leaned against him and looked out, quiet and pensive. Bees droned in the flower beds. A hummingbird flashed into one of the azalea bushes Callie had planted, hovered, and flashed out of sight again.

"Did you see that?" Frank murmured with interest.

Callie nodded. "That's the second one I've seen this week," she said absently. Then she seemed to rally herself, to make an effort at making conversation. "Next year I'd like to put in some butterfly bushes," she said. "And we could even have a little chicken coop over there, in the corner."

"You want chickens?" Frank asked, a little surprised.

"Maybe? I don't know. Maybe after Miles is old enough to help take care of them. We don't have to think about it right now." Callie seemed to tire of the conversation. She turned, coming back into his arms and burying her face against his chest.

"If you want chickens, you can have chickens," Frank said, stroking her hair, and Callie gave a muffled laugh which might have been a sob.

"Frank, I'm scared," she said. "He's never looked like that before. He's always been so, so b-big, so loud-" She broke off, sniffing. Frank pulled her even closer.

"I know, Cal," he said. "I know. But he's going to be okay."

"I wish... I wish she had let me talk to him."

Frank had no words for that. He just held her tight until finally she stepped away, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand.

"Okay," she said, taking a deep breath. "I need to keep myself busy. I'm going to make some dinner. Are you hungry?"

Frank nodded. "I thought we could just get takeout," he said. "It's been a long day."

"But we just had a pizza delivered on Monday," Callie said, frowning. She, like Frank, took their budget very seriously. Financial responsibility was important to them both, especially now, with the wedding and the baby and house payments to think of.

Frank sighed. He privately felt that the budget could absorb a little deviation, but he also knew that pushing the issue would only add stress to Callie's day rather than relieve it. Cooking and washing dishes, while not terribly appealing at the moment, were worth it for her peace of mind.

"Okay," he said. "You're right. Let's see what we can throw together."

"Let's just have breakfast for dinner. Eggs are easy," Callie said, heading inside.

"Still have chickens on your mind?" Frank teased.

"I guess so," Callie said, smiling a little. She headed for the refrigerator. "I'll grab the eggs if you reach the bread down from the cabinet. Someone who shall remain nameless keeps putting it on the high shelf."

"What choice do I have? You put everything else on the lower shelves, and the bread won't fit," Frank protested playfully. "One of these days I'm going to build you a stepstool." He went to the cabinets, combining reaching down the bread with making a quick check for anything that could have been Joe's clue.

Callie did not respond to his teasing. When he looked over, bread in hand, he found her standing in front of the open refrigerator, crying again.

Frank paused, unsure whether this was more fallout from her day or simply hormones. Last week she had wept over the cuteness of the cow in the logo on her yogurt container.

"I told you not to buy that brand of yogurt if it makes you feel sad," he said after a moment, his tone gentle.

"It's not the cow," Callie said, sniffing impatiently. She wiped away a tear with the back of her hand and swallowed hard, smiling a wobbly but genuine smile at him. "I'm okay, Frank. Look." She reached into the refrigerator and pulled out a foil-wrapped pan, which she set on the counter.

"What is it?" Frank leaned in, squinting at the sticky note on top of the dish. That was Nancy's writing on top, tall, narrow, and extremely legible; and below her message was another in Joe's distinctive hand, old-fashioned, exuberant, all tall capitals and long t-crosses.

 _Macaroni and cheese- Hannah's recipe, guaranteed comfort food. Reheat for 20 minutes at 375. There's a salad in the big blue bowl and a package of croutons on the counter,_ Nancy had written. Joe's message was more rambling:

 _Ice cream in freezer. Do not reheat. Unless that's what you're into. I won't judge. Okay, I lied. I will judge you for ruining ice cream. Call me if you need anything._

"They made us dinner!" Callie said unnecessarily. She sniffed again and reached for a tissue to dry her eyes.

Frank looked thoughtfully at the foil-wrapped dish. "They mowed the lawn, too," he said slowly.

"And you're still suspicious? Shame on you."

"You didn't see their faces when I walked in!" Frank told her.

Callie shrugged. She was obviously not concerned. "I'll preheat the oven. What temperature does it say?"

Frank, who had lifted a corner of the foil to peek inside, dropped it again and looked at the note. "Three seventy-five for 20 minutes."

"Three seventy-five," Callie repeated, turning on the oven. "Do you want to eat on the deck? It's such a nice evening."

"Sounds good," Frank told her. "Why don't you go on out and relax, and I'll bring the food when it's ready?"

Callie did not ask what he planned to do in the meantime. He knew that she knew exactly what was on his mind. She simply nodded, poured herself a glass of lemonade, tucked her library book under her arm, and headed out.

Left alone, Frank rummaged around a little more, checking the rest of the cabinets, the appliances, and a few closets, drawing on his experience as a detective and his knowledge of Joe. He paused to stick the pan in the oven when it beeped to indicate that it was pre-heated, then resumed his search. By the end of the twenty minutes, however, he had come up with nothing, and was more than ready to abandon the search.

"I can out-wait Joe, anyway," he muttered, returning to the kitchen. "Sooner or later, he'll talk."

Callie set her book aside when he appeared with the tray of food. She looked a little less tired, Frank noticed, and when she looked up at him her brown eyes actually held a hint of a sparkle.

"This place has great service," she joked as he set a plate in front of her. "And very handsome waiters, too."

Frank planted his hands on the arms of her chair and leaned in close. "Does that mean I can expect a generous tip later?" he teased.

In answer, Callie closed the remaining few inches between them and kissed him. "Or now, if you're impatient," she murmured.

Frank threaded his fingers into her hair and kissed her again, lightly. "I can hear your stomach growling, Cal. Let's eat."

They ate slowly, enjoying the pleasant warmth of the evening and the equally pleasant sense of being the monarchs of their own little kingdom. Callie seemed better, now. The weary wistfulness which had been stamped on her face since they had left the hospital had given way, gradually, to a sweet-natured peace. Frank found himself chasing her smile, telling exaggerated stories about anything that he thought might make her laugh, doing everything in his power to keep her mind off her worries.

Callie's phone went off a few times over the course of the meal- mostly texts from friends and family, checking up on her, and one from her boss, Amanda.

"I'm sorry," she apologized after hitting send on her latest reply. She usually left her phone in another room during dinner.

"Don't," Frank told her. "Extenuating circumstances. I promise I'm not going to start pouting about being neglected."

"Good, because I need to send one more message. I want to tell Nancy how much the little guy enjoyed her cooking."

Callie reached for her phone again. Frank leaned forward, trying to get a good look at her midsection. "Is he jumping around a lot?"

"Feel for yourself," Callie told him absently, typing.

Frank reached over and placed his palm flat against her belly, eyes widening when he felt the acrobatics going on beneath Callie's taut skin. "That's incredible. Do you think he'll be this active when he's on the outside?"

"I'm not sure." Callie set her phone down. She stretched. "I need to run in and use the restroom. Want me to bring dessert out when I come back?"

"I can get that," Frank said, beginning to stand. Callie, who was already on her feet, waved a finger at him sternly.

"Uh-uh. It's your turn to relax for a minute."

"Yes, ma'am," Frank said meekly, resuming his seat.

Callie returned a few minutes later, carrying two bowls of ice cream and looking suspiciously damp around the eyes again. She slid one bowl in front of Frank and eased herself into her own chair.

"He got my favorite," she announced, waving her spoon at Frank. "I don't care if they're plotting world domination. I still think they're the sweetest brother and almost-sister-in-law in the world. And I wish he'd propose, already, so I can just call her my sister." She gasped, suddenly, and put down her spoon. "Do you think that's what his clue is about? Is he planning a proposal?"

"I doubt it. Nancy was here this afternoon, too, remember? Whatever it is, it's not a secret from her."

"Oh. Right." Callie looked slightly crestfallen.

Frank scooped up another bite of ice cream. The sun was setting, now, and the mosquitos were starting to bother him. "I think he has a ring," he said, thinking that the information would bolster Callie's enthusiasm. But she just nodded.

"I know that. He's had that since before Thanksgiving."

"You're talking about the heirloom ring, the one Mom gave him," Frank said.

"Are you talking about a different ring?"

Frank swatted away another mosquito. "Yes, I'm talking about a different ring. We really need some of those candles, what are they called?"

"Citronella?"

"Yeah. We need some of those."

"They never bother me half as much as they bother you," Callie said, hoisting herself to her feet. "Come on. Let's go inside before they suck you dry."

Inside, they worked together in companionable silence to tidy up the kitchen. Frank rinsed their dishes and loaded them into the dishwasher while Callie sealed up the leftovers for storage.

"Do you want to turn in early?" Frank suggested, having caught her yawning. "I know you're tired, and we still have one more day of work before the wedding this weekend."

Callie's eyes flew open wide. "Oh, hell. The wedding."

"That's exactly what every groom wants to hear," Frank said dryly.

Callie did not rise to his teasing. "I can't do this. The wedding is Sunday, and I just wasted my entire Thursday sitting in that waiting room, and who knows if Dad is even going to be out of the hospital by then, and there's so much left to do- "

"Cal. Honey. You don't have to deal with any of that tonight. You need rest."

"But I can't just pretend nothing is happening! I can't just, just go to bed, like everything is normal."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm probably the reason he had a heart attack!"

The words hung between them for a moment. Despite the thousand rebuttals clamoring in his mind, Frank kept silent, waiting for her to continue.

"It's my fault," she said finally, her tone half-miserable and half-defiant, as though she expected Frank to argue. And he wanted to argue. This was exactly the conclusion he had been afraid she might reach. It was completely wrong, of course, but that was the thing about guilt: it did not need to be logical to be compelling.

"Why do you think that?" he asked instead.

"You know how upset he's been ever since he found out about the baby. And I just kept making plans, kept pushing our relationship in his face. I know how much stress I've put on him lately."

Frank had heard enough. "Listen to me," he said, walking over and putting his hands on her shoulders. "Please listen to me, Callie. You did not give your father a heart attack."

"I could have been a better daughter. I could have made life easier for him."

"You've never been anything but loving toward him."

"It's not very loving to be openly disobedient."

Frank could feel his jaw clench. He took a long breath, letting it out slowly, before he replied. His voice came out low and rough. "Do you regret our relationship? Do you think this is my fault? Should I have paid for a quick abortion and taken back my ring and walked out of your life?"

"Frank, no!"

"Damn it, Cal, you're an adult. Your life is yours to live. If he wants to hang on to his anger, that's his decision."

Callie sobbed.

Frank sighed. He stepped forward, gathering her close, resting his cheek on top of her head. "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. I just hate to see you hurting."

Against his chest, Callie shook her head. "N-no, you're right. I know it wasn't my fault. It's just that part of me feels so guilty."

Frank fought back a surge of anger at her parents. "Your dad gets a burger and fries for lunch every day. If you need to blame someone, blame the Burger King," he said, forcing some lightness into his tone.

"The Burger King?" Callie echoed, sniffing.

"Sure. He's a heartless bastard. He can handle the guilt." Frank tipped Callie's chin up and met her gaze. "It was not your fault," he said softly. "People have heart attacks every day. Happy people and angry people. You had nothing to do with this, okay?"

Callie lay her head back down on his chest and was quiet for a moment.

"I'm still freaking out a little about the wedding," she said finally.

"I know what you mean," Frank admitted. He ran a hand down her back, rubbing gentle, soothing circles. Even now, with her body stretched to accommodate their growing son, she fit so perfectly in his arms. The difference in their heights had always made him feel protective. "Our courthouse wedding was so much simpler," he said.

"Amen," Callie said fervently.

"Do you want to skip it?" Frank asked, meaning the upcoming traditional wedding.

Callie thought for a few minutes. "No," she said. "I actually don't. I think it's going to be a lot of fun to celebrate with all our friends, this time."

"And we get a real honeymoon, finally," Frank reminded her. "With no snowstorms en route or cows in the hotel room."

"We hope, anyway," Callie muttered. She was still in a dour mood. "And I'm sure a honeymoon with a seven-months-pregnant wife isn't exactly what you've always dreamed of."

"Did you forget which Hardy you married?" Frank demanded. "You picked the boring one, babe. I can't think of anything more exciting than taking a vacation with my pregnant wife. I love being committed to you. I love knowing that's my baby in there." His tone was light, but his words were serious. He tipped her face up again and kissed her, long and slow and deep, pouring his heart into the movement of his lips against hers.

"Do you believe me?"

Callie slipped a hand around the back of his neck and pulled him back down. "Kiss me like that again, and I might," she said softly.

Her lips brushed his, soft and tantalizing. Frank leaned in closer and captured them. He was just beginning to lose himself in Callie- in the silk of her skin and hair beneath his fingertips, in the pressure of her body against his, in the smell of her perfume and the intoxicating give and take of her kiss- when his phone rang loudly. He pulled away, groaning.

"Do you have to take that?" Callie asked.

"I have to. It's work." He released her regretfully and backed away, pointing at her with playful sternness. "Don't you dare move. I'm coming right back," he said, fumbling with his phone. "Hardy speaking."

The call was just an officer on duty on the night shift, with a question about a report he had filed earlier that day. It was only a matter of moments before Frank had answered the question and wrapped up his call, but by the time he returned to the kitchen, Callie was gone. He found her sitting at her easel, which was kept set up in a well-lit corner of the living room, working with complete absorption on a watercolor painting. Frank backed soundlessly out of the room before his presence jarred her concentration. Painting would help her more than anything else right now.

Frank returned to his search for Joe's clue. As frustrated as he was with himself for caring about it so much while other, more important things were going on, it was not in his nature to simply let an unsolved puzzle remain unsolved. So he quickly and quietly searched the few remaining rooms: rifling through the cleaning supplies under the sink in the second bathroom, tiptoeing into the nursery to look into the crib and beneath the neat piles of onesies and rompers in the dresser drawers, shining a flashlight across baseboards and beneath furniture. And still, he came up empty-handed.

Feeling thoughtful and a bit frustrated, Frank checked on Callie. She was still painting away and did not even look up when he peered into the room. Frank swapped his jeans for a pair of shorts and headed out to the garage, where he kept his weights and equipment, for a quick workout. He might not be an artist, like his wife, but he could still immerse himself in an activity and give his conscious mind a rest. If he was lucky, his subconscious would finish solving the mystery while most of his attention was given over to his physical body.

The workout did not result in any epiphanies, but he did return to the house feeling pleasantly tired and relaxed. He showered fast, in the coldest water he could stand, and afterwards pulled on thin flannel pajama pants and a t-shirt before hesitating, reconsidering, and peeling the shirt back over his head, folding it neatly and setting it back in the drawer. Barefoot and bare-chested, cool and tingly from the moisture still evaporating off his hair and skin, he returned to the living room. He wanted to see Callie, even if it meant interrupting her this time. Even after all these years together, he still craved her company; and today, especially, with all the pressure of family and the impending wedding, he found himself wanting to pull her close and shut out the rest of the world.

Callie was still painting. Frank leaned in the doorway, unnoticed, watching her and drinking in her beauty. It was more than her physical beauty which fascinated him, though he would be lying if he claimed he did not notice that. But there was a deeper quality to her, an inner radiance magnified by her complete surrender to the act of creation. At times like this she was so clearly part of something greater than herself that Frank sometimes felt a tinge of awe.

Though his patience was beginning to fray, he made himself wait until she felt his eyes on her and surfaced from her absorption. She set her brush down and frowned at him.

"Go away. You're stifling my creativity."

He did not obey. He crossed the room, instead, and came around the easel to wrap his arms around her. "That's too bad, beautiful, because you're certainly inspiring my creativity," he said softly.

"Smooth talkers, the whole damn family of you," Callie said, smiling despite her protest. Frank leaned in and kissed her, catching the corner of her smile as she shook her head and then cupping her face in his hand, turning her back toward him for a deeper, more thorough kiss, slow and sweet and strong.

"I'm sorry, you were complaining," he said, breaking away.

"Mm-mm. No complaints here," Callie said breathily. She stood and sought out his lips for another kiss, pressing herself against him almost hungrily. Frank groaned into her mouth. Still kissing her, cupping her face with one hand, he reached blindly to extract the paintbrush from her other hand and let it drop to the floor.

"Come to bed," he said simply. And she did.

Despite how tired she had been earlier, she came to him eagerly, her embrace charged with a strange and restless energy. She seemed to be seeking reassurance in his hands and his lips and the warmth of his body against her own. Frank met her energy with slow and tender movements, offering her his strength and his adoration. With every word and with every touch he renewed the vows he had made to her back in November- the vows which he had been making to her, in his heart, since he had given her his first kiss all those years ago.

 _I love you more than life itself. I am here for you, no matter what the next few days bring.  
_

_

Sometime after midnight Frank sat bolt upright, with the solution to Joe's challenge burning clear as day in his mind. He slipped out of bed, careful not to wake Callie, and made his way through the darkened house to the third bedroom. One day, this room would be an office-guest room combination. At present it was an office-storage-jumble. Frank flicked on the light, went directly to the printer, and pulled a sheet of folded paper off its tray.

"Eureka," he said quietly. "Okay. What've we got?"

Once unfolded, the paper did not divulge any big secrets. It was only a printout of a screenshot of an emailed invoice, with all the pertinent information strategically edited out. Frank stared at it for a moment, hoping it might contain at least one overlooked hint, but Nancy and Joe had been thorough. All the printout told him was that Joe had ordered an unknown item, for an unknown cost, to be delivered to an unknown location.

Frank returned the paper to the printer tray and went back to bed. There would be plenty of time to plan his next step in dealing with Joe in the morning. For now, he was satisfied.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four: Wedding Preparations

"Knock knock," Amanda Braxton sang out, approaching Callie's desk Friday morning. "Would you and Baby like a muffin? Val brought in a dozen from her sister's bakery, and I swear I'm going to end up eating half the box myself."

"Not if I get to them first. That looks delicious," Callie said, accepting the streusel-topped muffin gladly. "Thank you!"

"You're welcome, hon." Amanda perched on a corner of the desk, unwrapping her own muffin and glancing over the photos Callie had spread out. "Are these for your meeting with Mrs. Drummond?"

Callie nodded. "She should be in any minute."

"You don't look thrilled about that. What's up? I thought Mrs. Drummond was one of your favorites."

"She is," Callie said quickly. "I've been looking forward to this meeting for weeks! I'm just having a hard time getting my head in the game today."

"With good reason," Amanda said sympathetically. "How is- oh, darn. Hold that thought. My phone's ringing." She slid off Callie's desk and hurried away toward her own.

Left alone, Callie took another bite of her muffin and continued studying the materials she had laid out, double-checking her choices and making sure she remembered all the relevant information.

Callie had worked for Braxton & Co. Art Consultants since the week after her graduation from college. She had never even had to formally interview for the position. Amanda had simply walked up to her during her senior art portfolio exhibit and pressed a business card into her hand.

"Call me," she had said. "I like your style. We have a job open for you if you want it."

Callie had called the number on the card the following afternoon, and she had never regretted it. While she still hoped to make a name for herself as an artist someday, her job with the consulting firm had been just as rewarding, in its own way. She loved meeting with clients and helping them find exactly the right decorative or investment pieces to fit their tastes and budget. She also loved the challenges of the job: reading clients and matching the right artwork to their personal preferences, taking chances on up-and-coming artists, and tracking down the more obscure pieces clients had requested. Callie always had had a good eye for art, a good instinct for what was going to last and what would be a flash in the pan. Now she was getting paid to use and to hone those skills, and to be immersed every day in the art world, her world. She could not imagine a better career.

The client she was meeting today, Sandrine Drummond, had been a patron of Braxton's since the days when Amanda's father had run the place, and she was a unanimous favorite among the staff. Sandrine carried herself with old-fashioned dignity. She was always impeccably turned out, from her perfectly-coiffed white hair to the polished toes of her vintage pumps. But Sandrine's character outshone her class. The older woman was warm, intelligent, and well-read. Instead of treating the consulting group like an Art Vending Machine, as some clients did, she always seemed to savor the experience of selecting artwork. She knew every employee by name and treated them all, from Amanda down to the youngest new hire, with respectful courtesy.

It was an honor to be assigned Mrs. Drummond's commission, Callie reminded herself as she finished her muffin. No matter what distractions were weighing on her mind, she was determined to give the job her absolute best.

By the time her client arrived, Callie felt focused and ready to begin. So she was more than a bit nonplussed when Sandrine barely even glanced at the portfolio of up-and-coming local painters Callie had prepared for her to peruse.

"Callie, my dear, I've heard through the grapevine that you have an important occasion approaching," Sandrine said, resting her carefully-manicured fingertips on the closed folder between them.

"Yes, our wedding is this weekend," Callie said, smiling. "The public one, anyway. We were legally married last November."

"Two weddings," Sandrine said, her eyes sparkling. "I had to beguile two separate men to get my two weddings, but you've managed to inspire the same man to pledge himself to you twice over. That's quite an accomplishment!"

"We're just making sure the vows really take," Callie joked back.

Sandrine laughed. "You're a smart lady," she said.

"Shall we-" Callie began, reaching for the folder, but Sandrine spoke again as though she had not heard her.

"I like that man of yours, you know. I had to phone the police station last week to report an attempted burglary, and Mr. Hardy was so polite when he took my statement. Some of these young officers practically bark questions at you, you know. I believe they watch too much television. But your husband was very kind."

"Frank is easy on the eyes, too," Amanda chimed in suddenly. Callie jumped. She had not seen her boss approaching.

"Don't mind me, babe. I'm just going to sit in and look at the pretties," Amanda said casually, pulling up a chair. "I didn't get to look over your picks earlier. Callie always finds the best pieces, doesn't she, Mrs. Drummond?"

Sandrine nodded. "Oh, my, yes. She certainly does. I've always said Callie has exquisite taste."

"Refresh my memory. We're looking for a piece for your foyer? Oh, forgive me, Cal. I promise I'm not going to hijack your meeting." And Amanda sat back, "zipping her lips" like a grade schooler.

Sandrine was nodding again. "Yes, I'm looking for a rather large oil painting for my foyer. We're having it re-done this summer. I am eager to see what you've turned up."

"Then let's take a look," Callie said, opening the folder. "I know which one is my favorite, but I'm interested to hear your opinions."

The remainder of the meeting went well. Mrs. Drummond was delighted with Callie's recommendations, and after a lengthy discussion of the merits of each choice decided on Callie's favorite of the contenders, a painting by a friend of hers in River Heights.

Amanda pulled Callie aside after Sandrine had left. "How's your dad?" she asked.

"According to my mom, he's resting well and they have him scheduled for bypass surgery tomorrow," Callie said. She had found a brief text to that effect on her phone that morning.

"Oh, honey, does that mean he's going to miss your wedding? I bet you're even happier now that you had your courthouse ceremony," Amanda said. "He was at your first wedding, at least."

Callie nodded, thinking back. At their first wedding, her mother had been passive-aggressive and her father had been just plain aggressive. In fact, he had very nearly provoked Joe into a fistfight. After that debacle it was almost a relief to know that her parents' presence would not cast a shadow over their public ceremony. But she was sad, too- sad that things had to be that way, sad that her parents would not be celebrating with her, and sad that her father was so sick.

"Yes," she told Amanda, simply. "I am glad he was at the first one."

"Life is funny, huh?" Amanda said, seeming to sense Callie's divided emotions. She reached out and gave Callie's arm a little squeeze. "You're a strong kid. You can handle this."

"Thanks, Amanda."

Amanda's tone became brusque again. "Okay. As your boss, I'm going to give you an order now: go home."

"Home? But it's only 10," Callie protested. "I'm supposed to work for another few hours, and I need to go over the photos from that new sculptor."

"Val can handle that. Go on, get out of here," Amanda said. "Consider this part of my wedding gift to you. Go home, or go to the hospital, or run wedding errands, I don't care. Just get out of here and do what you need to do, girl. And one more thing: promise me you'll take a little time for yourself today, too."

"Okay," Callie said tentatively, and then with happy appreciation. "Okay! Amanda, you're the best. Thank you so much."

"You're so welcome. I'll see you Sunday," Amanda said. And Callie went, waving goodbye to Val and Eric as she left. Her best work friend, Abby, was not in the office that day, but she would see her at lunch. All of her bridesmaids were meeting up with her for lunch today to plan out their weekend.

Though the unexpected few hours of free time were exhilarating, at first, Callie's enthusiasm had already drained considerably by the time she reached her car. The tasks she still needed to accomplish before the wedding seemed to pile up in front of her like a heap of boulders after a landslide. She was almost afraid to even pull one boulder away, lest the entire pile crash down on her.

"Okay. Where can I start?" Callie murmured to herself, drumming her fingers on the wheel in frustration. _And can I just blow it all off and go straight to the hospital?_

The movement of her fingers drew her attention to her lucky mood ring, which she was still wearing on her right hand, and she smiled. She was glad Frank had dug it up for her. By wearing it now, in the days before her wedding, she was adding a layer of new good memories on top of the old memories associated with the trinket. This morning, for instance, she had awakened wearing nothing but the mood ring and her wedding and engagement ring set, with Frank stretched out diagonally across her legs and the bed. He had kicked the blankets off, as he always did. For such a meticulous person in waking life, he was a surprisingly chaotic sleeper. It had taken Callie a long time to become accustomed to his nocturnal restlessness, and even now she would occasionally grumble about buying separate beds.

Frank had stirred when she slid her legs out from beneath his, though she had tried to keep the movement gentle. He had immediately rolled over, pressing a kiss to the nape of her neck and reaching around to smooth a hand sleepily across her belly.

"Good morning," he had mumbled, his voice muffled between her shoulder blades.

"Good morning," Callie had replied, snuggling into his encircling arm.

Frank, who had begun lacing his fingers through hers, stopped when he felt the unfamiliar dig of the mood ring. He had lifted her hand, studying it. Callie had rolled onto her back so she could watch his face. Though he had been trying to look serious, she knew him well enough to see the lightness in his eyes, the spark most people never saw.

"Ah, mademoiselle, the magic ring foretells that you will have a much better day today," he had announced gravely.

Callie had grinned lazily. "Is that so?"

"Guaranteed." Frank's voice had been soft and sleep-roughened. He had traced the ring again with one finger. "The purple swirl here means you're going to be successful at work. This green speck means you're going to eat something delicious. And do you see this little blue dot?"

"That microscopic one, you mean?" Callie had teased.

"Scoff all you want, but it means that a tall, dark, and handsome stranger is going to fall madly in love with you."

"A stranger, huh?"

"Okay, maybe not a stranger. But he still loves you." Frank had smiled down at her and leaned in to give her a soft kiss.

"I love you, too," Callie had murmured. But she had held up her other hand, wiggling her fingers to make her diamond catch the light. "But as far as I'm concerned, these are the rings that tell me it's going to be a good day. Any day I get to be with you is a good day. You're supportive and sweet and I love living life with you." As much as she had been enjoying the playful tone, she had been unable to help herself; she had to be serious with him. Callie had always been more comfortable expressing herself than Frank was, but these days sometimes she caught herself just blurting things out. So much of her energy, of her _self_ , was devoted to this business of growing a child, right now. She felt more raw these days, more forthright, her perspective and her understanding of what was really important narrowed. So she had been serious. And Frank, because he was Frank, had simply kissed her again and gotten out of bed.

"Come on," he had said. "I'll make you some breakfast."

Callie shook her head, bringing herself back to the present. No, going to the hospital unannounced would be a bad idea. She curbed that impulse, knowing her welcome would likely be cold. Her mother had told her she would let her know when he was ready for visitors.

 _But she never said I couldn't call_ , Callie thought, making up her mind suddenly. She would call her mother on her way to the library. The call would set her mind at ease, and the simple, quick errand would boost her morale for the remaining tasks on her mental list. Quickly, before she could change her mind, she placed her call, set the phone on speaker, and began to drive.

Margaret answered, finally, just before the phone went to voicemail. She sounded breathless and harried. "Yes?"

"Mom, it's me. How are you?"

"Oh, it's you. I'm all right. I'm down at the cafeteria. That's why I almost missed your call. I had just picked up some lunch when I heard the phone start ringing, and I had to hurry to find a place to set everything down."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt," Callie said, wondering why her mother was eating lunch so early. "I won't keep you long. I just wanted to ask how Dad is doing."

"You can come by and see him later if you really want to."

"I wasn't- " Callie bit off her reply and sighed, hoping the phone's microphone would not pick up the sound. She really had not been angling for an invitation. "I was just checking in, Mom," she said, forcing patience into her voice.

"He's much better today. He's a little restless, though. I'm going to run out after I eat and pick up something for him to read."

"I'm literally five minutes from the library as we speak. I can pick out a few books for him while I'm there. Do you think he'd rather have Zane Grey or Lois L'Amour?" Callie asked, naming her father's favorite authors. Charles Shaw was not a big reader, but he enjoyed the occasional Western.

"Why on earth are you going to the library?" Margaret asked.

"Oh, you know. Picking up some Tolstoy and Dickens to read on vacation," Callie joked.

Margaret's tone, which had relaxed slightly during their conversation, sharpened again. "Is Frank not paying enough attention to you?" she demanded. "You don't have to go through with this nonsense. I told you it was only a matter of time before- "

"No, Mom, it was a joke. I'm just dropping off our books before we leave, so we don't end up paying overdue fines."

"Oh."

There was a pause. Callie could hear cafeteria noise in the background: a murmur of voices, a ripple of laughter, a clatter as of someone dropping a plate. The sounds only served to intensify the awkward silence lengthening between mother and daughter.

"Don't bother getting anything," Margaret said abruptly. "I need to go home for a change of clothes. I'll just grab something off our bookshelf while I'm there."

"Okay, Mom. Let me know if you change your mind, or if there's anything else I can do."

"Of course."

"I'll see you later," Callie said softly.

She felt vaguely guilty after she hung up, though there was nothing she could have done differently. _Nothing short of forcing my help on her, anyway,_ she thought, sighing; and she gathered up her books and went into the library.

The morning seemed to have grown hotter in the brief time it took to return her books. Back in her car, Callie pulled her hair up into a ponytail and turned up the air conditioner, wishing she had thought to bring a pair of flip-flops. Her feet were already beginning to protest the confining but cute flats she had selected for her morning at work. They would definitely be swollen tonight.

Callie reached out again, impatiently flipping through radio frequencies until she hit the classic rock station both she and Joe enjoyed. Swollen feet, she decided, were going firmly on her mental list of subjects not to think about, right below her dad's health and the fact that her stomach was already grumbling. Dwelling on any of these items would do her no good. Lunch would come soon enough, she could put her feet up later, and there was nothing she could do about her father. What she could do, right now, was focus and finish her errands.

"Next stop, Lorraine's Bridal," she announced. Her audience seemed unimpressed, based on the magnitude of the kick he offered in reply. It was a small and sleepy movement. Miles always grew more active as the day wore on.

Lorraine's Bridal, the local boutique where Callie had purchased her gown and accessories, had left her a message saying that her veil had come in yesterday afternoon. Callie had actually given up on it, since it had been back-ordered for months, and was almost annoyed that it had arrived after all at the eleventh hour. Nevertheless, she put her car in gear and headed over.

The bridal boutique happened to be located next door to a small, family-owned-and-operated doughnut shop. Callie cast a longing glance at the display window as she hurried past. Nancy had always treated Callie and herself to fresh doughnuts from Evans' after each dress fitting appointment, claiming it was a mandatory part of her maid-of-honor duties.

"Coming in for the usual?" Dave Evans called through the doorway. With the doughnuts all safely closed up in their display case to guard against dust or flies, he had propped the door open for some cross-ventilation.

"I wish I could!" Callie called back, hurrying reluctantly onward.

Inside Lorraine's, she maneuvered past a group of young women helping a friend pick out gowns to try on and explained her errand to the clerk behind the counter. The clerk, a middle-aged woman, was inclined to be chatty rather than efficient. Callie drew on her reserves of patience and made small talk for a few minutes, knowing that this was how things worked in a small town.

 _This is the price you pay for the personal touch_ , she thought with grim humor. Ordinarily, she enjoyed the small-town atmosphere; this morning, though, she almost wished she were getting married in New York City or Chicago, someplace big and bustling and anonymous.

Finally, the woman handed over the precious box containing Callie's veil.

"There you are, dear. We came through in the nick of time," she said, peering over the counter at Callie's figure. "I have to tell you, I've never seen a pregnant bride wear a veil before." Her voice dropped to a near-whisper on the word "pregnant."

There it was, the other downside to a small-town wedding: the scrutiny. Callie's pregnancy was hardly front-page news anymore, but she knew people had done some gossiping in the early days and that their public ceremony would probably dredge up the gossip for a second circulation. Her mother had endured the first round with fierce embarrassment. Callie could only imagine the scolding phone calls she would get this time around.

"I think you're very brave, dear," the clerk added in a syrupy voice.

Callie drew herself up to her full height. Unimpressive as her actual height might be, she had it on good authority that she could wield a withering look of dignity when the occasion required it. She turned this look on the clerk, now.

"I'm not brave. I'm lucky. I'm getting everything I ever wanted, all at the same time," she said pleasantly. And scooping up her box and receipt, she exited the store with her head held high.

Her dignity evaporated once she reached the sidewalk, replaced by a dark scowl. _It's the twenty-first century and people still have nothing better to do than raise their eyebrows at me,_ she thought bitterly.

"Hey, Callie, wait up!" someone called suddenly. It was Dave. He jogged up behind her and placed a small to-go bag on top of her veil box. "Chocolate glazed, on the house," he said.

Callie's scowl vanished. "Dave, thank you so much! You just made my day."

"The big day is this weekend, right?"

"Sunday afternoon," Callie confirmed.

Dave offered her a shy smile. "Congratulations. I always knew you two were going to make it."

"Thanks, Dave. I really appreciate it."

"It's the least I can do for such a loyal customer," he teased, re-tracing his steps back toward his shop. "Tell Frank I said hi!"

"Will do!"

Callie couldn't help smiling as she headed for her car. While she had not known Dave well in the days he and Bess were dating, he had always seemed like a sweet guy. People like Dave more than made up for people like the bridal shop clerk. Maybe small towns were not so bad, after all.

She placed the veil box and doughnut carefully on the passenger seat before getting back behind the wheel and cranking up the AC another two notches. The air vent, which was perfectly aligned to blow cold air on her face and neck, felt like heaven.

"From now on, timing pregnancies to avoid the warmer months is top priority," she grumbled, and then giggled. "If timing were our strong suit, you might not be stuck running errands with me today," she told Miles.

The dry cleaner was her next destination. She made it halfway there before giving in to the sugary temptation in the passenger seat, extracting it carefully from its paper bag and eating it carefully as she drove.

"Eleven o'clock already!" she groaned, parking the car and brushing away a few crumbs which had landed atop the curve of her belly. She had been hoping to accomplish so much more before breaking for lunch. At least the dry cleaner would be a quick errand. The employees there were always more efficient than friendly.

Callie reviewed her remaining tasks in her mind as she ran in and picked up the items Frank had dropped off a few days ago. What was left after this? _Check in with the caterer, the photographer, and the DJ. Double-check my hair appointment time. Respond to Donna's email about the cake frosting. Call Reverend Beckett about moving the rehearsal time back a little, because Biff's flight lands an hour later than he'd originally told us. Figure out what the hotel manager was talking about in that voicemail this morning. Number of chairs available? Or number we need? Oh, and deal with all the relatives who want to know about the registry and the driving directions and whether they can bring the guy they just started dating yesterday..._

It was all mundane stuff, but there was just so much of it. Callie was beginning to feel like a puppeteer holding too many strings.

 _So much for that "me time" Amanda told me to take,_ she thought wryly. _The bachelorette party tonight will have to count for that. I hope we're doing something really low-key. Like napping._

Her phone rang, suddenly. Callie glanced at the screen with resentment, expecting it to be yet another wedding-related question; but then she saw Frank's name and her adrenaline spiked immediately. The wife of a police officer does not like to get surprise phone calls during the work day. She answered quickly, putting the call on speaker as she drove.

"Frank, is everything okay?"

"What? Yeah, everything's fine," he said quickly.

She exhaled shakily. "You scared me."

"I'm sorry. How's your day going?"

"I'm about one more phone call away from hopping the next flight to Aruba, alone," she informed him flippantly.

"That bad?"

"The morning was really good, actually. It's just...there's so much stuff, Frank. I can't do this."

"That's why I called, actually."

"Because I can't do this?"

"Cal, you know you can do it." Frank's voice was affectionate, steady, reassuring. "That's not what I meant. I meant, let me help some more. Work is really slow today. If you have any jobs I can handle from my desk, lay 'em on me."

"Oh, Frank." The words came out as a sigh of relief. "Thank you."

They only spoke for a minute or two more, just long enough for Frank to write down a short list of tasks he could take care of while at work.

"Hey, Cal?" Frank said, before they hung up.

"What?"

"I love you."

Callie smiled. "I love you too. I'll see you tonight."

It was funny how those three words could make her feel recharged, ready to take on the rest of her day. Frank's words, she knew, were always measured and weighed before he spoke them. The words he expressed were only the tip of the iceberg in terms of what he actually felt. Callie still had no idea how she had been lucky enough to end up with a man like him; but she had, and the timely reminder of the depth of their connection made her feel supported and able to finish her tasks.

"Okay, little boy," she said, giving her belly a pat. The baby was very much awake now, and having a celebratory dance party by the feel of things. Evidently the sugar from the doughnut was just hitting him. "It's time to head home. I think I have just enough time to swing by the bakery and tell Donna to stop fussing about getting the exact shade of blue."

Donna Flynn, a talented local baker and a long-time friend of Callie's cousin Polly, looked relieved when Callie walked into her shop.

"Good, you're here. This will be so much easier to explain in person. Come here, come here," she added, beckoning impatiently. "Come into the kitchen with me and take a look at this icing."

"What's wrong with it?" Callie asked, trailing obediently after her.

"I just wanted to be sure it's the right shade before I go any further. I'd hate to make the whole cake wrong. I made up a small batch of icing and it's a good match for the color samples you texted me, but sometimes screens don't display colors quite true. Do you know what I mean? Maybe the colors look one way on your screen and a different way on mine." Donna opened a container as she spoke and tilted it, letting Callie look at the icing samples inside. "This one is the base color, and these are for the flowers. Do you maybe have a fabric swatch I should match, or a paint sample card?"

"A what? Do people really bring you swatches?" Callie asked, raising her eyebrows.

"Oh, yes. Usually you girls come in with a whole binder full of inspiration photos, flavor ideas, color swatches, you name it."

"Oh." Callie thought for a moment. "I guess I left things more open-ended because the artist in me wanted to see what would happen if you followed your own inspiration on this. You do beautiful work, Donna. I have absolute faith in you."

"But it's your _wedding cake_ ," Donna said, stressing the words as though perhaps Callie did not understand the importance of the occasion.

"Yes," Callie said, smiling. "It is."

Donna stowed the icing container back in the refrigerator and turned, leading the way back out into the front of her store. "I suppose I should have expected this from you," she said, waving a hand in a helpless gesture. "You always were a funny little girl. I'll do my best. And you're sure that the colors are a close enough match?"

"They look perfect," Callie told her.

"While you're here, I might as well ask. Will Polly be in town for the wedding?" Donna asked. "I tried calling her, but all I got was an automated message saying the number was not in service. Which is odd, because Polly is usually so good about keeping in contact. Is she all right?"

"Yes, she's fine. She must have lost your number a few months ago," Callie said, reaching for the pen and pad lying on the counter. "She dropped her old phone in a pot of soup and lost all her contacts. Here's her new number."

"Thank you," Donna said gratefully. "I thought it was odd that she just dropped out of touch like that."

"Well, you can catch up with her this weekend and give her a good scolding for not reaching out sooner," Callie said, grinning. "Is that all you needed, Donna?"

"That's all," the baker confirmed.

"All right, then I'd better take off. I'll see you Sunday!" Callie called. "And thank you!"

...

There were already cars in her driveway when Callie arrived home for the lunchtime meeting Nancy had arranged, though she was only a few minutes behind schedule. Callie could identify Nancy's roadster, Abby's Honda, Bess's SUV, and Laura Hardy's Ford sedan. The cars, however, were empty.

"Where is everyone?" Callie wondered, looking around as she eased her own tired legs and swollen abdomen out from behind her steering wheel.

She did not need to wonder long. As it turned out, her kitchen was full of people.

"Hi, everyone! Don't be bashful. Come on in and make yourselves at home," she called with cheerful sarcasm as she walked in. "Nancy Drew, did you pick my lock again?"

"Would I ever do that?" Nancy asked innocently.

"I can't let Nancy take the fall for this one," Laura confessed, hurrying over to give her daughter-in-law an affectionate hug. "Frank gave me a spare key so I could come over and water your plants while you're on your honeymoon. I'm afraid I abused my privilege a bit and let us all inside."

"That's fine. I'm glad you didn't all wait outside in this heat," Callie said.

Laura pulled back, studying her face. "How are you, sweetheart?"

"I'm okay."

"And your father?"

"He's stable. He's scheduled for bypass surgery tomorrow."

Laura nodded sympathetically. "A few of my friends' husbands have had that done. We can talk more about it later, honey, if you'd like."

"I think I'd like that. I do feel a little less worried now that there's a plan in place."

"Come sit down, Callie," Bess called from the table, where she feeding her two little girls and chatting with Abby.

"Go on," Laura said. "George should be back with lunch any minute now, and we all want to know exactly how we can help make your life a little easier for the next few days."

Callie waved hello to Abby and Bess, but sought Nancy out again before going over to the table.

"Nan, thank you so much for making us dinner last night," she said, pulling the detective into a quick hug. "I can't tell you how much that meant to me. I cried."

"To be fair, you cried about the cow on your yogurt cup the other day," Nancy teased.

"Seriously, did Frank tell the whole world that story?" Callie grumbled.

"Only a select few," Nancy said reassuringly. "And you're very welcome for the dinner. It was the least we could do."

"It almost made up for that little scavenger hunt Joe sent Frank on," Callie said, rolling her eyes.

Nancy looked as though she wanted to laugh. "Oh no. Tell me he didn't spend the whole night searching."

"Not the whole night, but a good bit of it. And for all I know the clue doesn't even exist!"

"I'm sorry," Nancy said, though her eyes were still dancing. "If it makes you feel better, the clue definitely exists. I hope he was able to pull himself away from the hunt long enough to pay some attention to you, though."

"Oh, he did," Callie assured her, grinning privately at the thought of how they had ended the evening.

"Girl, I know exactly what Bess would call that smile," Nancy drawled, raising an eyebrow at her friend.

"Did I hear my name?" Bess called across the room. She had put Abby in charge of cutting up strawberries for Myra and was semi-discreetly nursing her five-month-old, Vivienne.

"Don't worry about it," Nancy said.

Bess, who had been friends with Nancy too long to let her curiosity go unsatisfied, would undoubtedly have pressed the issue had George not arrived just then with a to-go order from one of the girls' favorite local restaurants. All previous conversational threads were lost in the ensuing bustle of fetching plates and unpacking the food.

Callie went to the refrigerator to grab a pitcher of lemonade for the table, smiling at the sonogram pictures on display there as she opened the door. She couldn't believe how much had changed in the past few months. The terrified girl sobbing over a positive pregnancy test in her in-laws' bathroom had become a strong woman, deeper in love than ever and eager to meet her baby. _Frank's_ baby.

Vivi was still nursing when Callie returned to the table. Bess was chatting with Laura and Nancy while George played with Myra and Abby pulled up a spreadsheet of some kind on her tablet.

"Okay, ladies, that's enough baby talk. From now on it's strictly wedding," Bess announced, casually switching Vivi to her other breast.

"How do you make that look so effortless?" Callie blurted out. Bess laughed, and Callie clapped a hand over her mouth. "I'm sorry. I did not mean to say that out loud. I seem to have lost my filter lately."

"Look who you're talking to, cherie. I didn't even have a filter before the baby brain kicked in. Nothing is off-limits," Bess promised. "It's just practice, really. Plus, Vivi is a super chill baby. You should have seen me my first day with Myra! We were both crying."

"Why were we crying?" Myra asked as George lifted her back into her chair. "I never cry now. I'm big now."

"Big girls cry sometimes," Nancy said. "Even I cry once in a while."

"Then you're still a baby," Myra insisted.

George laughed. "Yeah, Drew. Grow up."

"Excuse me?" Nancy shot back, laughing.

Bess looked back to Callie as the other girls continued their lighthearted sparring. "We'll chat, babe. After the wedding. Right now the only mouth going anywhere near your boobs is Fr- "

"Bess!" George yelped, breaking off her latest jab at Nancy mid-sentence to interrupt her cousin.

"Thank you, George," Laura said dryly.

Bess giggled. "Okay, yeah, sorry. That was about to get weird."

Nancy broke in, her face serious now. "We're not going to monopolize your time. We know you have a lot to do today, and so do we." She winked at Callie. "We still have to book the exotic dancers for tonight, and I need to help Bess finish baking about five dozen anatomically correct gingerbread men."

"Nancy!" Callie protested, darting another glance at Laura. But the older woman was laughing.

"You girls sure know how to throw a party," was her only comment.

"Just trust us, Cal," Nancy said. "Okay. So let's get started."

They ate, and as they did they helped Callie run through the itinerary of the upcoming weekend, discussing what tasks still needed to be finished as well as the timing of the event.

"Okay, so it all comes down to who needs to be where with what," the ever-practical George summed up finally. "Why can't we get a big whiteboard and draw a diagram- "

"You want to draw Callie's wedding like a coach in a football movie drawing plays on the blackboard?" Bess demanded.

George shrugged. "Why not?"

"How about this?" Abby asked suddenly, passing her tablet over to Callie. She had been taking diligent notes and had produced a fairly clear and straightforward spreadsheet.

"Abby, you're brilliant," Nancy said, examining the document over Callie's shoulder. "This is perfect. I'm a failure as a maid of honor. Thanks for picking up the slack."

"Oh, hush," Abby said graciously. "You've done all the real work. I just wrote some stuff down. Callie knows me; this is how I handle life."

Callie nodded, smiling affectionately at her friend. "You should see her desk at work. Rows and rows of sticky notes."

"It's the complete opposite of Callie's desk," Abby added.

"Callie has a messy desk?" Laura asked, surprised. "Your home is always so neat."

"It's not a mess, it's a creative vortex," Callie said.

"Are you feeling a little less stressed about the weekend now?" Laura asked, leaning forward to pour herself a second glass of lemonade. "At least we've figured out a few more things you can delegate."

"I do feel better," Callie confessed, "but I also feel really guilty about throwing extra work at all of you."

"But we want to help," Nancy said.

"I know, but this..." Callie waved a hand vaguely, encompassing the whole wedding in one gesture. "This isn't me. I don't work from checklists, I don't get impatient with people, I don't make my friends do my work for me."

"Seriously, Cal, we're not just here to show up and look pretty. We want to help," Nancy repeated.

"Though, let's be honest. We are going to look hot," Bess added, making everyone laugh.

"Thanks, you guys," Callie said, sniffing.

"Quick, let's get out of here before she starts bawling," George said, only half-joking.

"I probably should get going," Abby said apologetically. "I have a few things to wrap up at work this afternoon."

"Yeah, I have a beginners' karate class in 40 minutes," George said, beginning to clear away the dishes.

"Are you going to visit your dad this afternoon?" Laura asked, rising too.

Callie nodded. "I think Mom will let me see him today."

"If your dad is in the hospital, who will give you away?" Bess asked.

"Bess!" Nancy scolded.

It was a valid question, though. Callie was quiet a moment, considering.

"I'm not sure," she said finally.

Nancy stuck a takeout box of leftovers in the refrigerator and closed the door firmly. "You don't need to decide right now," she said kindly.

Everyone was making her way to the door, now- gathering purses, sliding shoes on, helping Myra into her sandals. Amid the flurry of goodbyes Nancy stopped to give Callie another quick hug.

"Joe and I will be over around 6 to pick you two up. Is Frank's bag all packed?"

Callie nodded happily. She had been let into the secret of Frank's bachelor party so that she could pack his overnight bag. "He's good to go, and he is going to love it! I can't wait."

"You're going to love yours, too," Nancy promised. "See you at six!"


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five: The Hospital

 _I'd like to thank everyone who has been reading and leaving such kind reviews- Cheryl, Jilsen, max, karateka67, and Guest._  
 _This story was really supposed to be nothing more than a light, short wedding piece. I have no idea why all this family angst keeps surfacing! The next chapter will get things back on track with some fun times and wedding events._

No hospital room is ever truly silent. But to Callie, that afternoon, despite the incessant chatter drifting from the unwatched television, the bustle of voices and footsteps in the hall, and the occasional beep from one of the monitors near the bed, her father's hospital room seemed to lie swathed in an almost oppressive stillness.

This stillness, though unpleasant, was not surprising. Being around her parents always had a dampening effect on Callie's spirits. For years she had been like a pebble on a beach, caught between the continual crashing of her father, the wave, and the gentler but more pervasive friction of her mother, the sand; and though she was free, now, and had shed the smooth, bland, obedient surface they had tried to mold, there was something about being in their presence that always made her feel as though she were eroding again.

 _I'm stronger than that,_ she reminded herself, now, and the child moving within her helped her to cling to that thought. She sighed and turned her attention back to the figure in the bed.

Charles was asleep, a book in one hand and the TV remote in the other. In Callie's eyes, and indeed in the eyes of the world in general, Charles Shaw had always been a big man, with a big voice and big opinions to match. He dominated any room he entered, first with his broad-shouldered frame and then with his deep and booming voice. But now he lay before her silent and pale and somehow diminished. It frightened her. The image seemed viscerally wrong, a flaw in the universe itself, a contradiction of the laws of nature. Callie found the whole situation so unsettling that she had very nearly turned and walked away before she had even entered the room. She had paused on the threshold, staring, for a long moment before her sense of duty propelled her forward . She had taken a seat in the one unoccupied chair, on the opposite side of the bed from her mother, and had half-reached for her sleeping father's hand before drawing her own hand back. It would not do to disturb him.

Her mother, too, was dozing, sitting upright in her chair, her body's only concession to repose a slight tilt of her head against the wall for support. Even in slumber a frown etched itself into her mouth. Her breathing was restless. She would wake soon, Callie knew.

Callie looked at her father again, noticing the new grey in his hair and the lines around his eyes, and again she had to stop herself from taking his hand. He looked so vulnerable, so harmless. She had never seen him look this way before.

Callie sat back in her chair, folding her hands over her belly. She held no illusions about her parents. She knew what kind of people they were. She even knew that distancing herself from them, as Frank wanted (though he had very carefully hidden this desire from her), might be a healthy choice. But Callie loved them. God help her, she could no more stop loving them than she could stop loving her baby. They were inextricably linked. She was made of their DNA, formed of their substance if not in their image, bound to them by blood and time and memory. And despite what Frank thought, some good had come of her upbringing. He was not the only man who had helped her to shape her own life.

Charles had been largely a negative influence on his daughter's life. Callie admitted that readily. But by some comical twist of fate, his actions had directed her into one of the most positive experiences of her life: her decision to pursue a career in art.

He did not remember this, could not possibly remember it. It had been a casual remark, made as he flipped through the channels on their secondhand TV set. He had paused on the public broadcasting channel he normally avoided, gestured toward the screen with the remote, and took a sip of his beer.

"You make sure you marry a man who can buy you one of those," he had told Callie, who was doing her homework at the coffee table.

Callie had looked up from her multiplication and division worksheet, brushing wispy blonde bangs out of her eyes, and her life had changed forever. There, on the screen, was a Van Gogh painting. Callie had never seen anything so hauntingly beautiful before. She had stared, captivated by its colors and lines, until her father changed the channel.

There had been no further discussion on the subject, but her father's words had stayed with her, ringing in the back of her mind. _Marry a man who can buy you one_. The idea had seemed ludicrous to her, even at that age. Why should she marry someone and wait for him to buy her a painting, when she could simply paint one herself? From that night on, Callie had felt awakened to her life's true calling: she was going to make art.

As she grew older she realized that Charles had not necessarily been interested in the art itself when he made that remark. He had no interest in artwork in general and never seemed impressed by his daughter's pieces, even when other adults began to take notice and praise her work. He had regarded Callie's creativity as a minor hobby which she would leave behind when it came time for her to get what he considered a "real job." That remark about the Van Gogh all those years ago, Callie discovered, had been about wealth and social status. Charles had watched his father and his grandfather work themselves into the ground without ever becoming rich, and he was following in their footsteps. When he had drawn his daughter's attention to the artwork, he was looking at the price tag, not the colors.

 _You've got to get ahead in life,_ was what he had meant. _It's about time a Shaw came out on top._

Callie smiled a small, private smile. Even though her interpretation was far from his intended meaning, she was grateful for the part her father had played in determining the course of her life. And there were other good things about Charles. Most people- here she was thinking of the Hardys, especially- saw only his irascible temper, his bluster, his inability to see her talent as genuine. But no one was that two-dimensional. Her father had his good points. He was a hard worker and a good provider. He had taught her to have a good work ethic, to speak politely to her elders, and to be frugal with her money. On their visits to his parents' farm, he had taught her to ride a bike and a horse, to milk a cow, to identify poisonous snakes and plants.

They had drifted apart as she grew into her teen years. She was a girl, not a boy, and he no longer knew how to relate to her. He began putting her in her place as he did Margaret. Callie was petite, like her mother, with her mother's big brown eyes, and something about their delicate doe-eyed selves brought out the bully in him. He pushed them around simply because he could.

 _There you go again,_ Callie thought ruefully. Every time she began drifting toward a fond, affectionate, and forgiving state of mind, her subconscious would bring the man's less forgivable attributes to her attention. Dwelling on his past actions now, while he was ill, felt uncomfortably spiteful.

Margaret jerked awake, suddenly, looking angry with herself for sleeping and then surprised when she noticed Callie sitting across from her. She returned Callie's wave with a tight little nod and reached for a half-finished crossword puzzle to work on.

 _Okay then,_ Callie thought, shifting in her seat and resigning herself to sitting for a few more minutes in silence. _If Dad doesn't wake up in the next ten minutes I'm just going to go._ Part of her hoped that that was exactly what would happen, though she felt too guilty to even admit it to herself.

Eight and a half minutes later, Charles opened his eyes. Callie actually jumped, and Margaret put down her crossword puzzle so fast she snapped the point of her pencil against the table.

"Well, look who's here," he said raspily, easing himself upright.

"Hi, Dad," Callie said, willing herself not to tear up. "How are you feeling?"

"Still ticking," he said, giving his chest a thump with one fist. "I don't go down that easily."

"Good," Callie told him, smiling through the tears which had welled up anyway.

Charles reached for his water cup and waved it in Margaret's direction. "Hey, Maggie, think you could refill this?"

"I'm so sorry. I didn't realize it was empty," Margaret said, practically leaping to do his bidding. Callie cringed, her emotional tears forgotten. She could see the unbalanced power dynamic so clearly now, in a way she never could before she began spending so much time around the Hardys. Fenton and Laura had shown her what a real partnership could look like.

She forced her attention back to Charles, who was grumbling. "The place looks like a damn funeral parlor," he said, gesturing toward the flowers on the windowsill.

"No, Dad, they make the room look more cheerful," Callie protested, deciding not to tell him that one of the bouquets was from her and Frank.

"What's cheerful about a bunch of wilting flowers? Every time I open my eyes I expect to see a line of people walking past, staring down at me." Charles fumbled for the TV remote and began clicking through channels. "Did she tell you they're going to put me under the knife?" he asked in a slightly more conversational tone.

Callie nodded. "Yes. A bypass?"

"Double," Charles grunted. And suddenly he was off, launching into a detailed description of the bypass operation and how the heart attack itself had felt and what the doctors had been saying about when he could go back to work. His voice was hoarse, but fairly strong.

The ordinary tone and words were jolting, for a moment, in this setting; but Callie was just beginning to relax slightly when he stopped and looked at her.

"I guess this means I'm going to miss the big day," he said without preamble and apparently without remorse.

"We can reschedule," Callie said impulsively.

"That would be stupid." Charles accepted the cup Margaret was holding out and took a long sip.

"Took you long enough. Did you get lost?" he asked, grinning like it was a joke.

"I ran into one of your doctors and he wanted to talk about the schedule for tomorrow," Margaret said. "Do you need anything else while I'm up?"

"No." He took another sip and handed the cup back to Margaret as she took her seat.

"Were you talking about the wedding?" Margaret asked.

"I told her not to reschedule it. I mean, look at her. She looks grotesque enough as it is. If they wait any longer she'll be yelling out her vows between contractions." Charles was not grinning anymore. He lay back, glowering at Callie as though daring her to contradict him.

"Charles," Margaret murmured in embarrassed protest.

"It's the truth," he said. "I don't know why you wanted to go parading around in this condition anyway. It's a complete farce."

Callie found herself on her feet before she had made a conscious decision to rise. She could not, would not sit and listen to this. Her cheeks felt hot and the room was rippling behind a curtain of unshed tears.

"I need to go," she said thickly. "I'll come see you when I can. I'm glad you're all right." And then she was hurrying from the room, half-running down the hall despite her sore feet, desperate suddenly for a breath of fresh air and a quiet place to cry.

Margaret caught up to her in the parking lot.

"Callie," she said, making a jerky motion as though she had wanted to reach out toward her daughter but thought better of it.

"What?" Callie asked, fumbling in her purse for her keys.

Margaret paused, eying her struggle. "Do you need help?"

"The damn keychain is caught in the damn zipper," Callie growled, tugging. She still wanted to cry. She was angry and embarrassed and the last thing she felt capable of was slowing down to finesse the keychain out of the zipper's teeth.

"Language!" Margaret said automatically, and then softened her tone. "Let me." She reached over and took both items from Callie's hands. Callie leaned against the door of her car and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand while her mother worked in silence.

"Why?" Callie said finally.

"I didn't like to see you run out of there so upset," Margaret said carefully, looking at the zipper and not at Callie.

"You agree with him, though."

Margaret drew in a long breath. "Well," she said, her voice still carefully even. "Yes. We've thought all along that this whole relationship was a mistake. I hate seeing you go through this."

"Mom, I'm happy," Callie said wearily.

"You're happy being the subject of gossip? You're happy that you spent years sneaking around behind my back? You're happy to be tied to a man so selfish he put his own pleasure ahead of your future?"

"Please don't talk about my husband like that. Frank is the most selfless man I know."

"You're very young." The keychain and the zipper parted ways, suddenly. Margaret turned and handed them back to Callie.

"Thanks," Callie said stiffly. "Can I bring you anything from home, or a meal?"

Margaret shook her head. "No, thank you."

There was a pause.

"Where are you off to?" Margaret asked, finally, her tone a poor facsimile of conversational ease.

"Home, for now. Nancy is coming by later to pick me up for my bachelorette party," Callie told her.

And there it was again: the look on her mother's face like a gate slamming closed. She looked at Callie, the surprise and disapproval in her eyes mingling with- could that be wistfulness?

"That seems odd, under the circumstances," she said.

That was definitely wistfulness. Callie had seen it a few times before. Her mother was clearly torn between Charles's condemnation of the unfolding events and Callie's professed happiness. Under normal circumstances, Callie might have reached out and tried to bridge the gap between them. But at present she was tired and humiliated, and all she wanted was to end this painful conversation and go home.

"If being a virgin were a qualification for having a fun night with friends, none of us would be going tonight," she said. At the same time, she stroked a hand along the curve of her belly, deliberately drawing attention to the evidence of her waywardness.

"Callie, don't be crude!" Margaret said sharply.

 _She can't even look at me_ , Callie thought wildly. _When will she stop treating me like a walking mistake and realize that I am a person? Did she ever see me as a real person?_

Callie had had enough. She opened her car door and got in. "Bye, Mom. Please keep me posted about Dad. I probably won't have time to visit again."

She thought she would break down and cry as soon as she had put some distance between herself and her mother, but the tears never came- only anger, and a soul-deep weariness.

*************************

Being at home helped. A good, long shower, during which she did manage to cry a bit, also helped. And a small cup of coffee after her shower tipped the scales even further toward recovery from the afternoon's events. She was exhausted in a way which reminded her of the complete energy drain of her first trimester, but the caffeine took the edge off enough for her to feel functional again.

"Wine would have been even better," Callie said, patting the bump that was Miles. "Baby, you'd better be worth all of this." Despite her words, there was a touch of humor in her voice.

"We'll keep the receipt and exchange him if he's not worth it," Frank said from the doorway.

"When did you get here?" Callie asked, turning to stare at him.

"Just a few seconds ago." Frank walked over to kiss her. "Hi."

"Hi," she said back, reaching for the buttons on his uniform shirt.

"If I'd known this was how you planned to greet me, I would have cut out of work early," he joked.

"Don't get too excited. I just want you to get out of all this and cuddle a little," Callie said.

"Okay, that sounds good too." Frank let her finish with his buttons before taking her hand and leading her toward the bedroom. Callie grabbed her coffee cup and brought it along. She could feel Frank studying her; and sure enough, as soon as they reached the bedroom, he began investigating.

"It's strange to see you drinking coffee these days," he said casually. "What is this, your second cup since before Thanksgiving?"

"I think so," Callie said, taking a sip. "It's allowed, Frank. I promise."

Frank unbuckled his belt. "I know, babe." He paused long enough to step out of his pants. "Long day?" he asked, folding them. To anyone else his tone would have been completely innocent. But Callie knew him well enough to know that he was deliberately gathering information.

"I visited Dad in the hospital," she said, sitting down cross-legged on the bed. "He's feeling good enough to be very mean."

"What did he say to you?" Frank demanded. He dropped the pants on the floor and climbed onto the bed, taking a seat facing her. There was fury in his eyes, but his touch was light when he reached for her hands.

"Nothing new," Callie said. "But I think I'm glad that he won't be at the wedding."

Frank's jaw was clenched tight. Wordlessly, he gathered her into his arms. Callie rested her head on his chest and listened to his heartbeat, letting its strong regularity lull her outraged thoughts.

After a few minutes Frank shifted and bent his head to kiss her just behind the left ear. "This may be the least sexy line I've ever used, but how much time do we have before Joe and Nancy get here?" he murmured.

Callie smiled lazily against his chest. "Enough."

"You're not too tired?" His hands were already slipping up the back of her shirt.

"Not anymore," she told him, and it was the truth. Just a few minutes in his arms had made her feel whole again. "Besides, we're not going to see each other tonight."

"Are you planning to give me something to remember you by?" Frank asked mischievously.

"As though you could forget me," Callie scoffed. She tipped her face up anyway and nipped at his neck, lightly at first and then harder, as though she intended to leave a mark. Frank threaded his fingers into her hair, holding her face between his hands and maintaining eye contact as he eased her down onto her back.

"I wish things had gone better for you this afternoon," he whispered.

Callie shook her head and reached for him, pulling him down for another kiss. "It's okay," she whispered back, even though it was not okay and they both knew it.

They had been together for more than a decade, now, and they had been sleeping together since they were seventeen; but Callie never grew weary of watching reserved Frank Hardy come apart, lose control, just for her. She loved knowing that no one else had seen this side of Frank. He belonged to her as completely as she belonged to him.

She cuddled up to him again, afterwards, but only briefly. All too soon she felt him glance at the clock, felt the change in his body as his mind shifted back into action. Their peaceful interlude was coming to an end. Stifling the thought that it would be nice to forget all about their parties and just lie there all night, Callie leaned over and gave Frank one last kiss.

"We should probably get ready to go out," she said softly.

"Probably," Frank agreed. To her surprise, he did not immediately get up.

"You're going to love what Joe has planned for you," she teased.

"Which part do you think I'll like, specifically?"

"Nice try. I'm not letting a single hint slip," Callie said cheerfully.

Frank sat up. "Speaking of hints," he said, "I found it. I found Joe's clue."

"What was it?"

"A printout of an order confirmation, carefully censored to block out all the actual information."

"Oh. That's not a very exciting clue."

Frank looked thoughtful. "No, but it's a start. I think the next step is to hack into his laptop and check his browser history."

"Don't you think that's a little extreme?"

"He started it," Frank said, grinning self-consciously at the childish phrase. "It's not like he has any secrets anyway. This is Joe we're talking about. I just have to poke around enough to find out what they're up to."

"Okay. Just try to remember you're getting married this weekend," Callie said, torn between affection and frustration with his bulldog tenacity.

"Don't worry. That is my top priority by a long shot," Frank said immediately. "I managed to make all those calls this afternoon."

"All of them? Frank, that's the best news I've had all day." Callie sat up, now, too, reaching for the dog-eared notebook sitting on her nightstand. She flipped it open and pulled out the pen she kept tucked into its spiral binding.

"I'm going to be so happy when I can drop this thing into the recycling bin," she muttered. "Okay. Fill me in, please, and maybe we can cross a few things off this infernal list."

The next few minutes were spent in discussion, bringing each other up to speed on what they had accomplished and what remained to be done. Callie modified her list with a few notations and several very satisfying check marks.

"And Joe says he's definitely available to handle the airport run tomorrow," Frank concluded. "Your friend Deirdre gets in around the same time as Biff and his family, so he's just going to borrow Tony's van and bring them all back in one trip."

"Perfect," Callie said, tossing her list aside. "Now we'd really better get dressed. They'll be here any minute."

"What should I wear?" Frank asked.

"You're still not getting any hints!" Callie exclaimed. "Just put on something comfortable. Everything you need for the evening is in that duffel bag. And no peeking."

Frank, who had veered toward the duffel bag as though drawn by a magnet, adjusted his course back toward the dresser. "You're driving me crazy. You know that, right?"

"I know, and I have to confess that I'm enjoying it," Callie said sweetly, reaching for her own outfit.

She was still pulling her clothes on when the doorbell rang. Frank went to answer it. Callie paused to watch him walk away, appreciating the fit of his jeans and the way his t-shirt pulled tight around his biceps.

 _And I get two honeymoons with that man!_ she thought happily.

The sound of voices in the living room jolted her back into action. Callie slipped earrings into her ears, brushed her hair, and grabbed her purse. As she left the bedroom she could hear laughter, and Frank's voice rising in a half-amused complaint: "Where could we possibly be going that _that_ is appropriate attire?"

Callie rounded the corner into the living room and burst out laughing, herself. Her brother-in-law was lounging on their couch, wearing a pleased look in addition to a tuxedo-printed t-shirt, a sequined vest, spandex bike shorts, snow boots, a belt with two walkie-talkies clipped to it, a stopwatch on a lanyard around his neck, a leather wrist cuff, sunglasses, and his favorite orange-and-white knit hat.

"Did Nancy let you dress yourself today?" she said, grinning.

"Ha ha. You're hilarious," Joe shot back, pushing his sunglasses up onto his hat so he could roll his eyes at her.

"Joseph is modeling this year's line of Red Herring Apparel," Nancy announced, holding her car keys like a microphone. "Each item in this ensemble has been carefully selected for its power to clash with the other items and promote confusion in the viewer."

Joe jumped up and did a little catwalk turn, pulling his sunglasses back into place for dramatic effect. He stopped in front of Frank. "Are we going clubbing? Are we going camping? Are we going skiing? Who knows?"

Frank reached out and grabbed the sunglasses, leaning forward to peer into his brother's face. "Are you wearing eyeliner? I don't care where we're going, I'm not wearing makeup."

"Wait and see," Joe said mysteriously.

Nancy, meanwhile, had abandoned her role in the teasing. She turned to Callie. "Did you get to visit your dad after we left earlier?"

"I did."

Nancy was studying her face. Callie, well used to being around detectives, knew she did not need to say anything more; but she looked at Nancy anyway and shook her head. "It didn't go well."

"I'm sorry," Nancy said sincerely.

Both Hardys had gone quiet now. Callie, who knew Joe's opinion of her father, could practically see him biting his tongue.

"But, you know what? That's not important right now. I'm ready to go out and have a good time with my girls," she said quickly, before the mood could grow too heavy. "And I think Frank is going to have a tantrum if he doesn't find out what's in store for him soon."

"Not a tantrum, per se," Frank protested. "I'm just curious."

"Interesting," Joe said, raising the sunglasses again. "Would you say you are more curious about tonight or about that piece of paper we accidentally left in your printer tray?"

"Why would anyone be interested in that paper?" Nancy chimed in, her voice practically dripping with innocent bewilderment. "It's not as though it said anything useful."

"You're right," Joe said, playing along. "It's so careless to leave information lying around. Almost as careless as using the same computer password for more than a few days."

Callie glanced between the brothers' faces, Joe's carefully nonchalant and Frank's intense with concentration. So Joe had foreseen Frank's next move, hacking his computer, and was letting him know it would not be that easy. Callie sighed. She had seen them play these games before, and she did not have the patience to participate.

"Should we get going?" she asked Nancy.

"Whenever you're ready," Nancy said.

"We definitely need to get out of here. NASA promised us a little leeway, but they can't delay the launch indefinitely." Joe said, looking at his watch. "I hope you have an up-to-date intergalactic passport."

"Don't worry. I packed it," Callie said. "It's in his bag, between the bear trap and the dynamite."

"I am never letting any of you three plan anything for me ever again," Frank said, grabbing his duffel bag.

"Fine. You're on your own next time you get married," Joe joked.

Ignoring his brother, Frank wrapped his arms around Callie and gave her a gentle kiss. "I'll see you tomorrow," he said softly. "I love you."

"Gross," Joe griped. "Cut it out already. You're somebody's parents!"

Callie stood on tiptoe to glare at him over Frank's shoulder. "Seriously, Joe, who are you to complain about a little PDA? You and Nan can't keep your hands off each other."

"I object. I haven't touched him once since he put that outfit on," Nancy said archly.

"Don't act like I haven't caught you staring at my butt in these shorts," Joe said, winking at her.

"Okay, boys and girls. I'm officially putting an end to this," Frank said. Releasing Callie, he headed for the door. "Let's go, Joe."

"Hell yeah! It's party time!" Joe cheered. He followed Frank with alacrity, pausing only to bow stiffly to Nancy and press a very chaste kiss to her hand. Callie stifled a snort.

"Point made," she murmured.

Nancy shook her head. "Wait for it..." she murmured back. And sure enough, a moment later Joe bounded back through the door, took Nancy's face between his hands, and kissed her deeply.

"I couldn't leave like that," he said, looking deeply into Nancy's eyes. "Have fun and be safe. I love you."

"I love you, too," Nancy said. Was that Callie's imagination, or was her unflappable friend actually blushing?

"You too, Cal," Joe said, releasing Nancy and dropping a kiss on Callie's head as he passed by.

"You two are adorable," Callie told Nancy as the door shut behind Joe for a second time.

"We practice," Nancy joked. "Are you ready to go?"

Callie nodded. She had put on a brave face earlier, but she was genuinely beginning to feel excited about her night out with the girls. "I'm ready," she said. "Let's go have some fun!"


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six: Frank

 _Author's Note: I owe you all a huge apology for the long wait between chapters...I was on vacation, though, so perhaps I'm not really as sorry as I should be. :) Thank you so much to everyone who is reading, especially to all those who have started following the story and those who left such kind reviews on the last chapter. And an extra special thank you goes out to Cherylann Rivers, who helped guide my thought process toward an idea which shows up at the end of the chapter._

"You're going the wrong way," Frank called out, turning to watch his brother dart back toward the house.

"Just go start your car," Joe yelled over his shoulder. "I'll be right back. I forgot something."

"More like some _one_ ," Frank grumbled. He suspected that what what his brother had "forgotten" involved a certain titian-haired detective. However, Joe had already vanished back inside. Feeling slightly impatient, Frank went on ahead to his car and leaned against it to wait.

To Frank's slight surprise, only a few moments elapsed before Joe came bounding back and flung himself happily into the passenger seat.

"No AC?" the younger man protested.

"There can be, if you wait a minute," Frank said sternly. "It's bad for the environment to- "

"To leave a car idling, yeah, I know, but I told you I'd be right out."

"For you, 'right out' can mean anything from two seconds to an hour," Frank said, turning the key in the ignition. "By the way, you have lipstick on your face."

"Maybe I'll need it, where we're going."

"Where are we going?" Frank asked.

"Take a right out of the driveway," Joe told him, peering into the mirror on the back of the sun visor. "I don't see any lipstick."

"Come on, Joe. Give me an address."

"It's more fun this way. Take another right up there."

"More fun for you, maybe. Why am I driving to my own bachelor party, anyway? Don't tell me you want me to be your designated driver tonight, of all nights."

Joe flipped the visor up and sat back, looking offended. "How selfish do you think I am? I just needed you to drive for now so I could get changed."

"Changed?" Alarmed, Frank glanced over at his brother- who, sure enough, was beginning to strip away layers of his ridiculous outfit. "Not cool!" Frank protested. "Jeez. Tell me you're at least wearing something under those shorts."

"I can say it, but it's not gonna sound convincing."

"Joe!"

"Look on the bright side. Your car is finally seeing some action!" Joe joked, peeling off the shorts in question. They landed on the gearshift. Frank flicked them back over to his brother's side of the vehicle.

"What do you mean, 'finally?' " he retorted, keeping his tone level and his gaze straight ahead. He always had prided himself on his poker face. Joe, on the other hand, did not bother to disguise his expression, which was the same mixture of surprise, glee, and pride Joe always wore when Frank said something unexpected.

 _You'd think he would understand by now that I'm not as predictable as he thinks I am_ , Frank thought with private amusement.

"I thought I'd have to get a few drinks in you before you started to loosen up," Joe said appreciatively. "This is gonna be a good night."

"Maybe, if we ever get where we're going. Why haven't you given me any directions lately?" Frank eased to a stop at a light and rolled down his window, letting the balmy evening air fill the car.

"I haven't given you directions because you're going the right way," Joe said, tossing his snow boots into the back seat.

Frank winced. "Do you have to do that?"

"Yes," Joe said. He was pulling on a pair of jeans, now. When he spoke again, his voice held more gravity than it had previously. "Hey, Frank?"

"What?" Frank asked, watching the light turn green.

"Callie looked really tired. Is she doing all right?"

"She's okay," Frank said. After a moment, he realized how curt he had sounded. "She has a lot on her mind right now," he added, softening his tone a bit. "Are we still going straight?"

"Yeah." Joe paused. "Is it about her dad?"

Frank nodded. He glanced at his brother again in time to see Joe's lip curl in disgust.

"I don't care how sick he is, that guy is a- "

"Joe," Frank said, warning in his voice.

"What? Callie's not here. I'm not going to censor myself to spare your feelings, because honestly, if you're feeling protective of the guy, then I don't know who you are anymore."

"I do not feel protective of Charles Shaw," Frank said with contempt. "You sure as hell don't know me if you think that."

"What am I supposed to think? If Carson treated Nancy like that I would've done something about it years ago."

 _Oh_. Frank understood, suddenly: this was not just about Joe's quick temper or his intolerance of bullies. Joe wanted to understand Frank's outward tolerance of Charles Shaw, wanted to be able to respect his brother's actions.

"It's not that black-and-white," Frank said. He was quiet for a minute, tapping his wedding ring absently against the steering wheel as he gathered his thoughts.

"I'm not Callie's owner," he said finally. "I can't come between her and her parents."

"But- " Joe began.

"But nothing. Just trust me. And get your feet off my dashboard!"

Joe let his feet thump to the floor and leaned forward, rubbing away his dusty footprints with his forearm. Frank could practically hear his brother's thoughts whirling, but the younger man said only "Turn left up there."

For a few moments there was silence in the car. Frank was focused on his driving, watching for a chance to change lanes, and Joe was evidently trying to keep his mouth shut for a change. _Nancy is a good influence on him_ , Frank thought fleetingly.

As soon as he had merged into the turn lane, Frank surprised himself by breaking the silence.

"I won a long time ago, anyway," he said quietly. "I won when Callie agreed to a second date even though her father disliked me. That was the moment I knew she was going to drag herself out from under Charles's thumb. And that's exactly what she's done. I've never made her choices for her, Joe. I couldn't do that to her. She's the strongest, most loving person I've ever met. Charles is a bully and Margaret is weak and spiteful, but Callie sees past that. She sees the people they could have been." He kept his eyes fixed on the road ahead as he spoke. The words came out slowly, as though he were measuring them out. Though he trusted Joe completely, this level of candor did not come easily to him under any circumstances.

To his credit, Joe simply reached over and squeezed Frank's shoulder briefly. "I think I get it," he said.

"Good. And now can we please drop it? Because I've been over this, up, down, and sideways, for the last few days." Frank scowled at the road in front of him. He was feeling, all over again, the tremendous weight of having character, the fatigue of inner strength, the wish that just for once he could take the easy route rather than the right one.

"Ten-four," Joe said, snapping off a quick salute. "Switching back to party mode, sir! Preparing to engage mood booster!"

"That's not- " Frank started. Joe was reaching for the radio dials, turning up the volume. "That's not music," Frank finished, rather lamely, since the Russian instructor's voice was already audible.

"Thanks," Joe said sourly. "I hadn't noticed."

"Just put it in the case," Frank said, irritated. He had intended to remove the language CD before Joe got into his car.

"Damn straight. The only Russian anyone needs to know tonight is Больше водки."

"More vodka?" Frank echoed.

"Bingo. See, you know this shit. What do you need to study for?" Joe snapped the case closed on the CD, his rapid, over-precise movements betraying the discomfort his joking tone concealed. He kept talking, using what little Russian slang he remembered to tease Frank about being boring and responsible. Frank, for his part, sat back and let him talk, protesting mildly now and then, playing his part so that Joe could go on playing his. The specific words either of them were saying were not important, he knew. Joe was using humor to build up the wall between his real emotions and the memories of the mission for which they had originally learned the Russian language. They had been too young, too brash, and they had been completely out of their depth on that assignment. It was not one of Frank's fonder memories either. But while Joe sought to distance himself from the memories, Frank chose to file the whole thing away as a learning experience.

"Where's my next turn?" Frank asked finally, when he had had enough.

"Parsons Lane," Joe said, poking at the radio buttons. Frank suspected he would have to reset all his preset stations after Joe got through.

"Don't tell me you haven't guessed yet," Joe added, finally settling on his favorite station and sitting back in his seat.

Truthfully, Frank had begun to form an idea, but he was trying not to get his hopes up. "I'm still collecting evidence," he said simply.

"You get more like Dad every day," Joe said. "Okay. Screw it. I'm done being patient. Turn in at the airfield."

Frank laughed. "Any other secrets you're tired of keeping?"

"No, I'm good."

"Are we flying?" Frank asked. So much for the poker face. He could feel his face lighting up. While both brothers had kept their pilots' licenses current over the years, they rarely got the chance to fly these days.

"You're flying," Joe answered, his smile mirroring Frank's. "And before you start protesting, it wasn't too expensive. I called in a couple favors."

"That's good," Frank said automatically. "Especially given your new online shopping habit."

"Obviously you're not excited enough about getting airborne if you're still trying to get hints out of me. Maybe I should take this flight instead."

"No way," Frank said quickly, easing the car into position alongside the hangar. There was no formal parking lot here. The small, private airfield boasted one runway and storage space for a handful of small aircraft belonging to local enthusiasts. "This is my night, right? You can have your turn whenever you get around to proposing."

Was it his imagination, or had Joe's face gone somewhat red? That was intriguing.

"It's not that simple," Joe muttered.

Frank suppressed a chuckle. "It's not that complicated, either," he said lightly. "I thought you were getting changed," he added, diffusing the tension. Joe had littered the back seat with the more colorful components of his outfit, but he was still wearing that stupid tuxedo t-shirt.

"Gotta look good for the opera later," Joe said, pulling his sunglasses down from their perch on top of his head. Every bit of his native cockiness had returned. "There's Jack. It's showtime."

The Hardys emerged from Frank's car as Jack Wayne, their father's pilot friend, closed the distance between them with his long strides. He looked as lean and suntanned as ever, though there were a few new laugh lines around his eyes.

"Hello, boys!" he called out. "And congrats, Frank."

"Thanks, Jack. Joe, I thought you said you called in some favors, not racked up a few more."

Joe just shrugged. Jack laughed, an easy, relaxed laugh. "Believe it or not, I actually did owe Little Hardy a big one. Come on, guys. You've got to see this."

"Did Sal get a new coat of paint?" Frank asked, following Jack toward the hangar.

Jack laughed again. "You wouldn't believe it if I told you." He stopped in the doorway and motioned for Frank to go in first. Frank stepped inside cautiously, blinking a few times as his eyes adjusted to the dimmer light inside the hangar. And then he froze. The plane in front of him was not the _Skyhappy Sal_.

"There she is," Jack said softly. "My Holy Grail. Isn't she a beauty?"

"That's a P-51 Mustang," Frank breathed, still staring.

"Where'd you say you found her?" Joe asked, beginning to circle the aircraft.

"I bought her from a guy I know out in Arizona. I'd been haggling with him for years, and he finally decided he was ready to part with her." Jack went on talking, discussing the price and restoration process with Joe, but Frank was only half-listening. He was circling the plane now, too, checking out every detail, looking at first and then touching, peering inside, examining the engine and the cockpit with an interest bordering on awe. The aircraft had been modified slightly since its World War II days- the military radio had been removed and replaced with a small passenger seat, for example- but for the most part, every detail had been lovingly attended to until the plane seemed to have been pulled directly into the hangar from 1942.

Jack's voice, laced with equal parts amusement and understanding, finally broke through his trance. "Are you gonna stare at her all night, or are you gonna ask her to dance?"

Frank's head jerked toward the pilot. "What?"

"I said, are you gonna fly or not?" Jack repeated.

"In this?" Frank asked. "I thought I'd be taking _Sal_ up." His own voice, tremulous with excitement sounded ridiculous in his ears. He stared at Jack, one hand still resting on the cool metal of the fuselage, and hoped neither Jack nor his brother could see his heart trying to beat itself right out of his chest.

"You're one of the few people I'd trust with the old girl," Jack said, serious now. He and Frank shared a passion for historical aircraft.

Together, the three men pushed the antique airplane onto the airfield and prepped it for takeoff. Frank was trembling as he climbed into the cockpit, but he was too stoked even to care.

 _Okay, Hardy. Get a grip,_ he thought, seating himself at the controls. He laid a hand on the instrument panel, lightly, reverently, and took a deep breath. _Concentrate_. Channeling his excitement into intense focus, he carefully performed his pre-flight checks.

"Beautiful," he muttered, patting the plane again. The Mustang was in top condition and ready for takeoff...but something felt wrong. Frank looked down, caught Joe's eye, and waved him up. Joe, who had been lounging against Frank's parked car, jumped as though he had been electrocuted. In a split second, the younger man had scrambled up and squeezed his athletic frame into the small passenger seat.

"I thought you'd never ask," he said, grinning.

Jack's voice crackled over the radio. "Take it easy up there. No stunts. And don't let your idiot brother talk you into staging a dogfight up there. I will personally murder you both if you get a scratch on her."

"I hear you loud and clear," Frank responded.

"Are the machine guns operational?" Joe asked with interest.

"I doubt it, and we're not going to touch them," Frank said firmly.

"Even if we run into Luftwaffe up there?"

"Damn it, Joe, don't make me regret inviting you!"

Joe sat back, grinning, and Frank focused on the controls.

The flight was incredible. Frank knew he would never forget a minute of it, no matter how long he lived. Every detail seemed etched out brighter than real life, like a vivid and wonderful dream: the roar of the antique engine, the awe of touching history, the way the machine responded to his handling. Below them the long line of the coast unfurled. Frank followed it northward for a few minutes before banking smoothly and heading inland, following the silvery thread of the river up toward River Heights. On the return trip Frank circled Bayport, looking down at his home with a sudden surge of tenderness before dropping the craft gracefully back onto the grassy runway.

Back on land, a half-dazed Frank thanked Jack profusely before turning back to admire the plane one last time. He was barely aware of Joe and Jack conversing behind him. His head was still in the clouds.  
"Ready for Phase Two?" Joe asked finally, tapping Frank's shoulder to get his attention.

"There's more? This was more than enough," Frank protested, allowing his brother to steer him toward the car. Even through his haze of bliss, he could see the pleased look on Joe's face. No good ever came of that expression. "No strippers," Frank said sharply.

"No strippers," Joe said.

"All right." Mollified, Frank reached for his seatbelt. _I'll handle whatever it is when we get there_ , he thought, relaxing. Right now he was still soaring. Nothing was worth losing that mood over.

He was still lost in thought- trying to decide exactly how he would describe the flight to Callie, later- when Joe suddenly waved a hand in front of his face.

"What?"

"We're here," Joe said, grinning.

"What?" Frank said again. He looked out the window. They really had stopped moving, and the car was now parked outside the Hardys' boathouse.

"This is our next stop?" he asked, confused.

"This is it," Joe confirmed. "Come on. The guys are waiting."

Much to Frank's relief, the group gathered outside the boathouse was small, and composed of only familiar faces. Until that moment, part of him that had been convinced that he was in for a crazy night of pounding music, hard liquor, and rowdy crowds.

"This is Phase Two?" he asked, relieved.

"Better than you'd imagined?" Joe was grinning again. Frank rolled his eyes and turned away from his brother to greet his friends. It was their old group, reunited: Chet Morten, Phil Cohen, Tony Prito, Jerry Gilroy, Ned Nickerson, and Burt Eddleston. As they gathered around, exchanging greetings and friendly banter, Frank had a distinct sense of deja vu. Not everything was the same as the old days, of course. Biff had not arrived yet. Dave, who had drifted amiably away from the group after he and Bess had split up, was missing. And Ned looked almost apologetic until Joe made a point of shaking his hand. But their old camaraderie was definitely there, smoothing over what rough spots the years had created and filling Frank with anticipation.

Joe and Tony, meanwhile, had moved away from the group and begun prepping the _Sleuth_ and the Pritos' boat, the _Napoli_ , for departure. Frank excused himself and headed over.

"Having fun?" Tony called, passing a cooler down to Joe in the _Sleuth_.

"So far, so good," Frank said.

"The man has a complaint already. I can see it in his eyes." Joe vaulted up onto the dock, brushing his hands off on his jeans. "What's the trouble?"

"No trouble. I was just wondering if this plan of yours involves dinner," Frank said, eying the cooler. Now that he had returned to earth, he was aware that he was ravenous.

"Does it involve dinner!" Chet scoffed, joining them. "O ye of little faith. We're not just going to eat dinner. We're going to feast!"

"By which our enthusiastic friend means we're having a cookout on the island," Joe said. "If people would get their damn gear in the boat," he added, raising his voice pointedly.

Quickly, but with much good-natured grumbling, the men finished loading up their supplies. Frank jumped down into the _Sleuth_ along with Chet, Burt, and Joe. Tony, Phil, Ned, and Jerry boarded the other vessel. In a matter of moments the two speedboats were headed out across the bay, toward the island the boys had claimed as their own private campsite over a decade ago.

Burt pressed an opened beer into Frank's hand as soon as they were underway. "Here ya go, Mr. Bachelor. Cheers," he said, raising his own bottle with a grin.

"Cheers," Frank echoed, throwing caution to the wind and taking a long swig. This was the first alcohol he had touched since that pregnancy test had come up positive in November, out of support for Callie, and he knew that it was going to hit him fast. But it was a beautiful evening, he was still riding the high of that flight, and he was out on the water with his closest friends. Why not let loose a little? Frank took another sip.

"Pace yourself, buddy. We don't need a re-enactment of your 21st," Joe yelled over his shoulder.

"Or your 18th," Chet yelled at Joe.

"Did something happen on my 18th? I don't remember," Joe joked.

"I've been trying to suppress those memories ever since," Frank groaned.

"Nobody forced you to stay sober," Joe said, shrugging.

Burt raised his bottle again. "Here's to not being dumbass kids anymore!" he said.

"I'll drink to that," Frank said fervently.

"Hear, hear," Chet chimed in. He took a token sip from his bottle and set it down with a grimace.

"Still not a beer guy," Burt observed.

"Not a fan. I brought some great wine, though."

"What kind of wine do you drink at a cookout?" Frank asked- and then, seeing that Chet was about to launch into a long explanation, he held up a hand. "No, I don't need its life story. Just pour me a glass later," he protested.

"We could do a blind taste test!" Chet exclaimed happily.

Burt leaned forward. "I take it wine tasting is your latest hobby?" he asked.

"I'm dabbling, yes," Chet said.

"What about you, Burt?" Frank asked. "What's new with you? I heard the Navy's had enough of you."

"Yeah, four years of me was about all they could handle."

Frank was pleased to have a chance to catch up with Burt, whom he had not seen in several years. Between the conversation and his good mood, the boat trip seemed to fly by.

At the island, they all pitched in to set up camp. Frank grabbed his own tent from the pile of equipment and worked on setting it up, letting the bustle and commotion ebb around him.

 _If I closed my eyes, I'd think we were about 17 again,_ he thought, smiling privately to himself, and on a whim he did actually pause and close his eyes for a moment, focusing on the sounds around him. Joe was whistling a tune as he worked. Phil was chopping firewood. Ned and Burt were building a fire, laughing at some old joke as they worked. Tony and Jerry were working on two more tents. And Chet was busily setting up the host of gadgets he had brought along: a string of collapsible solar-powered lanterns, a foldaway grill, and a set of folding camp chairs. The chairs seemed especially popular. They had a tendency to give way beneath the unwary occupant which Joe and Tony in particular found extremely amusing. Chet kept trying to show them how to secure them properly, to no avail.

"Toss this in the tent when it's set up, would you?" Joe asked suddenly, startling Frank out of his reverie. He opened his eyes just in time to catch the backpack his brother threw to him. Joe smirked. "And before you go to the trouble of snooping, no, my laptop is not in there."

"It didn't even cross my mind," Frank lied, turning back to his pile of tent stakes.

"Listen up," Jerry called out suddenly. "This is the first aid kit. I'm putting it right inside the flap of my tent. Got it? I don't want any of you knuckleheads waking me up later to ask where it is. It is right. Fucking. There."

Frank laughed out loud. _Same old Jerry._ "I was just thinking about how some things never change," he explained, seeing the questioning glance the other man was giving him, and Jerry laughed too.

"I like my sleep," he muttered.

"Amen," Chet said devoutly.

Set-up was over fairly quickly. Before long only Chet was left, putting the finishing touches on his food prep station. Tony and Ned had already begun to toss a football around on the pebbly beach. Joe barreled in, intercepting a pass, and an impromptu game began.

"Frank, you in?" Ned yelled.

"I'm in," he hollered back, jogging out onto the beach.

"Chet?"

"No thanks. I'm cooking."

"I'll give you a hand," Phil said quickly.

The game remained casual despite the many athletic, competitive types on the field. It was a bachelor party, after all. Though they kept score and played hard, there was an underlying feeling of exuberance. At one point Joe made a run for the end zone with the ball tucked under one arm and a beer held in his other hand.

Frank's team was up by several points when Chet banged on a pan with a spoon, ranch dinner bell style, and yelled "Come and get it!" Everyone crowded gladly around the fire to eat hot dogs and hamburgers, potato salad, chips, and fresh watermelon. And when they all believed they were stuffed to bursting, Chet brought out a pan of brownies and a miraculously un-squashed layer cake- German chocolate, Frank's favorite, courtesy of Aunt Gertrude- and they all discovered that they had room to eat a little more after all.

Finally Frank sat back, praying his chair would not choose this moment to collapse, and patted his belly. "This must be how Callie feels," he groaned.

"Don't get too comfortable," Joe warned, reaching for his third brownie.

"Don't tell me there's more." Frank was alarmed. The sun was beginning to set, the fire was crackling cozily, his stomach was full, he was completely content and at peace with the world, and Joe wanted him to move?

"You're gonna want to get up for this," Jerry promised.

"Before your chair dumps you on your ass," Burt quipped.

"You have a point." Frank groaned again and got up. "Hey, is that paintball equipment? Little late for that."

"Not just paintball. Glow-in-the-dark paintball," Joe explained, distributing protective gear, and ammo clips.

"Seriously?" Ned protested, half laughing. "Are we 12?"

"Seriously?" Tony mocked. "Did they make you sign away your right to have fun in law school?"

"He's just scared to go up against me," Burt said.

"Are we playing teams or free-for-all?" Phil asked.

"Frank's call," Chet said.

Frank did not hesitate. He had always loved a game of strategy. "Teams," he announced. "Joe, Phil, Burt, with me."

Joe was laughing as he joined his teammates. "You left Chet and Ned on the same team? We're going to slaughter them."

Frank grinned. "That's the idea."

Much later, in a quiet moment after the paintball game had ended, Frank sought out his brother. He found him sitting on the rickety picnic table off to the edge of their campsite, glow-in-the-dark paint speckling his hair, holding his arm out in the moonlight so he could assess a growing new bruise.

"There you are," Frank said quietly, handing over one of the two bottles of beer he carried. He sat down clumsily, lurching with the table as it swayed. They had all been drinking more heavily since returning from their game, and he was walking a fine line between buzzed and outright drunk.

"Frame's rotted. We might as well use this for firewood," Joe commented, slapping a hand on the worn wooden surface.

Frank nodded. "We can build a new one next summer."

"When we bring your kid for his first camping trip?"

Frank lifted his beer to his lips and then paused, snorting. "He'll be a year old, Joe. Can you take one-year-olds camping?"

"Depends on how useful the kid is at hauling firewood," Joe joked.

There was silence, for a few moments, or what passed for silence on the island. Crickets chirped. Small waves lapped forever against the shore. Over by the fire, six other young men continued to talk and laugh. But the Hardys sat together in peaceful stillness.

"Thanks for tonight," Frank said finally. "This has been- " He hesitated, unsure, as always, of what words to use to describe how much the evening had meant to him. "It's been great," he said finally, knowing the word was lame, but knowing also that Joe would understand.

"You deserve great," Joe said. "You're a great brother."

Frank shifted in his seat, embarrassed. He would never understand Joe's free and easy affection. "You're drunk," he teased, deflecting some of his discomfort into humor.

"I may be drunk, but you're ugly..." Joe said vaguely. "Churchill. Funny guy." He was examining his leg, now, scraping off more flecks of paint and checking out another bruise. That was another facet of Joe which Frank would never understand- or perhaps it was all the same, his emotional recklessness and his physical recklessness. Joe had exercised about as much caution during the paintball game as he did in real life. It was all pure joy to him: adrenaline and tenderness, bruises and starlight, cold beer and good company.

"I wish I were more like you," Frank blurted out.

"No, you don't. You like being you," Joe said. "And Callie sure as hell likes you."

Frank sighed.

"What? Is that a problem? You want her not to like you?" Joe asked, releasing his bruised leg and twisting suddenly to look at Frank. He knocked over both of their beer bottles in the process. Frank dove for them and came up a little dizzy, holding one empty bottle and one half-full.

"Which one was mine?" he asked.

"That's what's important right now? Mine was empty."

"No, I don't want Callie not to like me. I wanted to talk to you about something else," Frank said, brushing away the pine needles which had stuck to the condensation on his bottle.

"Should I be sober for this?" Joe asked.

"Nah. Probably not. It's just work stuff."

The group around the fire had begun singing, making their way through their repertoire of campfire songs. To the background of Chet's earnest caterwauling, Frank confessed that he had been thinking a lot about going back into the family business. He liked his work as a police officer, but the paperwork and the desk duty were starting to get to him, and the hours were not ideal. Callie had found her career niche, with no reservations, but Frank was just not sure- and "unsure" was not a feeling Frank Hardy enjoyed.

He had not realized exactly how serious he was about the idea, or how much thought he had put into it, until he began speaking.

"What do you think?" he asked, finally.

Joe was silent just long enough for fear to begin crawling in around the edges of Frank's mind. Shit, he thought. He's trying to think of a polite way to say no. He's working with Nancy now. They don't need me. He swallowed hard, feeling his vulnerability begin to shift into defensive anger.

"Paperwork is the straw that breaks you? I thought you thrived on that stuff. You always had piles of it, even when we were working together," Joe said finally.

"Good record-keeping is vital for a small business," Frank started, but stopped, realizing that Joe had been giving him a hard time. "Damn it, Joe, can't you be serious?"

Joe returned his glare with a wide-eyed, innocent look. Frank sighed again, more heavily this time. "The thing is, this isn't a great time to leave my job. Police work is a steady paycheck, at least."

"Gotta have those benefits." Joe was still teasing, but Frank nodded.

"Exactly," he said quietly. "It's like my heart and my brain are tugging me two different ways. I like my job. I like knowing I'm doing something worthwhile with my life. But I think what we did, what you do, that's pretty worthwhile too, right? But how can I just quit?"

"Why do you have to decide right away?" Joe asked. His face was serious, now.

Frank looked at him, startled. It had not occurred to him that anything other than immediate action could be an acceptable choice.

"You don't just pull up to an intersection and hang out there forever," he said, shrugging. "I have to at least put on my turn signal, right?"

"Lose the analogy. The analogy sucks. You're not at a damn intersection, and you don't have to make a decision yet," Joe said doggedly. "Look, why don't you take a couple days off and shadow me and Nan on our next case. Like a, a, what do you call it. Internship."

"Are you going to make me do the coffee runs and the paperwork?"

"Maybe. We'll see how competent you are." Joe grinned at him. "Maybe internship was the wrong word. Think of it as more of a trial period. A way to determine if this is what you really want."

"So your advice is to procrastinate. Somehow, I'm not surprised," Frank teased.

"Is that all the gratitude I get?"

"I'll wait and see how it plays out before I thank you for it," Frank said. He already felt calmer about the whole situation. Joe's solution was almost elegant in its simplicity. And Joe was right: the experiment was the only way to know for sure whether what he was wrestling with was nostalgia or a true calling.

Sometime during their conversation, the campfire songs had turned from merely raucous to outright bawdy. Joe got to his feet, weaving a little, and held out a hand toward Frank just as Tony launched into a dirty parody of "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" which Frank had invented during a long and boring stakeout years ago.

"They're singing your song!" Joe exclaimed. "Let's get you back to the party."

"Sounds good to me," Frank replied.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven: Callie

 _Author's Note: Thanks for all the kind reviews! I appreciate the support._

Frank's car was just vanishing down the road as Callie and Nancy strolled out to Nancy's roadster.

"So," Nancy said, placing Callie's overnight bag in the back seat. "What's your guess? Will he strangle Joe and get it all over with, or will he actually have fun?"

Callie laughed. "He's going to love it. I think Joe's neck is safe. Do you think he told him about the airplane yet?"

"I doubt it," Nancy said thoughtfully, turning the key in the ignition. She paused for a moment, listening with unconscious satisfaction to the smooth sound of her engine, and Callie smiled. Nancy always took such pride in her funny little car. Evidently satisfied with what she heard, Nancy went on, "It just about killed him to keep that a secret this long, but he was determined to hold out just a little longer."

"I wish I could see Frank's face when he finds out. He's going to be over the moon," Callie said wistfully. "Thank you so much for planning this for us, Nan. You and Joe both. We're so lucky to have the two of you."

"You don't even know what's in store for you, yet," Nancy teased.

"You could clear that up for me," Callie teased back.

"I could, and I think I will," Nancy said. "How does a night out with all the girls at the Regent Hotel sound to you?"

"Really?" Callie exclaimed, delighted. The Regent was a highly-praised bayside hotel and restaurant. "Nancy! I've always wanted to stay there! But that's too much."

"This is your night, Cal. Like it or not, we are going to spoil you a little." Nancy glanced over, smiling, and Callie felt her reservations crumble away. She smiled back. Nancy nodded, looking pleased.

"I've never been there, either, and I really hope they live up to their reputation. We have dinner reservations at the hotel restaurant, and I booked a suite for whoever decides to stay the night afterward."

"A slumber party! I like the sound of that," Callie said, hoping her voice sounded natural. In truth, she was a little disappointed in the evening's plans- not for herself, but for the other girls. It sounded enjoyable to her, but it was hardly the boisterous sort of party she associated with bachelorette functions. What if her friends were all bored?

"What's wrong?" Nancy asked suddenly.

Callie jumped. "Nothing! Why do you ask?"

"You're playing with your rings," Nancy said, shrugging. "That's your tell."

"Oh." Callie looked down at her hands. She had twisted her mood ring around until the silly stone lay like a secret against her palm. She turned it back around the right way now.

"You must miss her terribly this weekend," Nancy said softly.

"How...? Oh. You saw the mood ring," Callie said.

Nancy nodded. "We'll make a detective out of you yet."

"Iola was my best friend," Callie said, turning her hand to look at the stone. It had turned a pure, light yellow. She wished she could remember what that was supposed to mean. "We made a pact when we were in grade school. Right after we read _Anne of Green Gables_ , probably. We were supposed to be each other's maids of honor."

The words hung between them for a moment before Callie tore her gaze away from her ring and looked at Nancy, horrified. "Nan, I'm sorry! I didn't mean it to sound like that. I didn't mean to sound like I wished she were here instead of you. I'm so sorry." She felt terrible. She knew that at the beginning of her relationship with Joe, Nancy had struggled with the idea that she needed to live up to Iola's memory; and now she had gone and implied that Nancy was second best in her mind.

"I understand, Callie," Nancy said. "It's okay. You don't have to tiptoe around the subject. I only hope I've done half as good a job as your maid of honor as she would have."

"Nancy," Callie said reproachfully. "You've been my rock, and I don't mean just for wedding planning. She was my best friend, but you're my sister." She wanted to give the other woman a hug, but settled for reaching across and taking her hand, squeezing lightly. To her great relief, Nancy returned the pressure.

"I always wanted a sister," she said lightly.

Both women were silent for a moment. Then Nancy said "I have to ask. When you and Iola made your pact, who did you see yourselves marrying?"

Callie laughed. "It's embarrassing."

"Oh, good," Nancy said merrily. "Let's hear it."

"Iola was going to marry Leonardo DiCaprio, and I was going to marry Chet." Callie mumbled the last half of the sentence, hoping Nancy would overlook it. But Nancy was not the type to let anything slip past her.

"Let me get this straight. She got a movie star, and you got Chet Morton?"

"He's nice! And funny, and sweet, and he was kind of cute even back then."

"You had a crush on Chet!" Nancy repeated, giggling. "Oh, that is priceless. Does Joe know about this? Does Frank? Wait. Does Chet know about this?"

"I don't think any of them need to know!" Callie protested, giggling now too. "It only lasted a week or two, anyway."

"And then you noticed Frank," Nancy guessed.

"A few months later," Callie said, nodding. "Of course, I never thought he'd give me a second look. But here we are."

"Here we are," Nancy repeated, pulling up to the valet parking. "Literally as well as figuratively. Are you ready for this, Miss Bachelorette?"

"I'm ready," Callie answered.

The moment Callie walked into the private room Nancy had reserved in the hotel restaurant, she was lost in a sea of affectionate greetings and embraces. All her friends were there: Bess and George and Abby, of course, and her cousin Polly, and Helen Corning, and Nova Bates, and a whole crowd of college friends and work friends.

"Callie, come here!" Bess called, waving a sparkly "Bachelorette" sash at her across the room. Callie obediently made her way over, shaking her head.

"There's no way that's going to fit around me."

"Nice try, hon. You're wearing it," Abby said.

"It's a rite of passage!" Bess added, helping Callie slip it over her head. "We're not going to go easy on you just because you're pregnant."

The sash was a snug fit over the baby, but it did fit. Callie did a little twirl, modeling it for the group. Despite her outward protest, inwardly she was very pleased. Perhaps tonight would not be as formal an affair as she had anticipated.

Everyone found a seat eventually, after much milling around and chatting and hugging. Callie looked through her menu, silently thanking the universe that she was done experiencing morning sickness. Everything looked delicious. After a few minutes of deliberation she decided what she wanted to order and set her menu aside, adjusting her sash across her front or smoothing it. She met Nancy's gaze across the table.

"You decided quickly," Nancy remarked. She still had her menu open in front of her.

"The baby helped," Callie explained. "I've given up fighting the cravings. We're going to have the risotto." She leaned in a bit, eyes sparkling, and murmured, "Despite your threats of anatomically correct gingerbread men, I don't see anything explicit lurking around. Should I assume you're all talk, Drew?"

Several other girls seated nearby, who were not as trained in hiding their feelings as Nancy was, giggled.

"Cal, if you don't know what they look like by now, it's beyond me how you got pregnant," George said dryly, pointing to Callie's water glass.

Callie blinked. There, right in front of her, sat a straw with a blatantly phallic decoration on top.

"Nancy Drew!" she scolded.

Nancy's face was much too innocent. "What? Why are you looking at me? I have no idea what that is. I'm a good girl."

"Sure you are," Callie said, winking.

"Being good is overrated," Nova chimed in from a little further down the table.

"You know what? You're right," Callie said suddenly. "To hell with it. I spent years trying to be the good girl my parents wanted me to be, and the whole time, I knew I was just going to end up as trapped and voiceless as my mother is. I'd much rather be a little bad if it means I get to own my own future. I'll take making mistakes over living in fear, and sinning a little over wondering what could have been." She lifted her glass high, raunchy straw displayed without shame. "To bad girls."

Nancy reached across the table to clink her glass against Callie's. "To bad girls!"

"Hear, hear!" said their waitress, who had approached during Callie's impulsive speech. "We don't get many bachelorette parties here. I can tell you ladies are going to be a fun bunch to serve."

"We promise our 'bad girls' ethos does not impact our table manners," Polly said merrily.

The Regent lived up to its reputation. The atmosphere was delightfully elegant, without being stuffy, and the food, when it arrived, was delicious.

A few more naughty surprises popped up over the course of the dinner. Much to Callie's amusement, she found a travel-sized erotic card game tucked inside her napkin, genitalia-shaped lollipops in the centerpiece, and a package of edible underwear taped to the leg of her chair. It was like a salacious Easter egg hunt.

"You girls have wicked imaginations," she said, examining her latest find.

"It's our job to make sure you're prepared for wedded bliss," Nancy said, winking.

Helen leaned over, a mock serious look on her face. "If there's anything you need to know about what to expect on your wedding night, feel free to ask."

Callie scooted her chair back a little and rested both hands on her belly, where Miles was squirming energetically. "Thanks, Helen. We made this little guy completely by accident. I have no idea how it even happened."

"In all seriousness, if you want us to back off on the bawdy stuff, just say the word," Nancy said in a low tone.

"Oh, please. You call this raunchy? I was at Bess's bachelorette, remember? After that, nothing could possibly faze me. Besides," Callie admitted, growing serious, "I like it. It's nice to be able to joke about this. I've been seeing my mother a lot these past few days, and she's still so ashamed she can barely look at me."

"Did she teleport here out of the 1800s?" Bess said indignantly, and several other women echoed the sentiment.

"Don't worry, Cal. We're not going to be Puritan about anything tonight. George alone knows enough dirty jokes to make you blush for the next month," Nancy said mischievously.

"It's true," George said solemnly. "They made us memorize one a day in basic training."

"I knew I could count on you," Callie said, laughing.

 _I have the best friends,_ she thought gratefully as she returned to her meal. Her heart felt warm with the knowledge that she was completely accepted for who she was, without judgment.

After dinner, Bess herded them all outside, into the warm golden evening, and handed her phone over to a passing elderly couple to take a group photo.

"I won't post this one," she promised Callie.

"Thanks," Callie said. She preferred to keep her social media presence minimal, both for personal reasons and due to the nature of her husband's job.

"I make no promises about my selfies, though. I can't let this level of hotness go undocumented," Bess said, giving her blonde curls a coy pat. Callie laughed.

"Absolutely. It would be a crime to deprive the Internet of your gorgeous face," she said, winking indulgently. When they were younger, Bess's self-confidence had seemed shallow and annoying; but Callie understood, now, that there was really nothing shallow about Bess. While she did care deeply about her own appearance, she was generous and caring and used her self-assurance to build other women up rather than to belittle them.

After the photo had been taken, Nancy made her way to Callie's side. "The next part is up to you," she said. "If you're feeling up to it, I thought we could walk down to the Sunset Cafe for dessert and maybe some dancing. They have live music every evening in the summer. But if you're tired, we can skip it."

Callie had been tired, earlier, but that weariness was long forgotten. The company of her friends had revitalized her, and the summer evening was almost heart-achingly lovely. She was not ready to resign herself to the hotel room for the night just yet.

"I want to go dancing," she said immediately, and there was a general murmur of excitement.

"Yay!" Abby cheered. "Okay, give me your loot. I'll go stash it in the room and catch up with you guys."

"Thanks," Callie said, handing it all over.

Abby grinned. "I'm going to get some funny looks in the elevator."

"You're bringing down the tone of the whole establishment!" George said. "You could at least hide the lollipops behind the card game."

"Yeah, that makes things so much better!" Abby shot back.

"Come on, George. Abby is good at being discreet," Callie said, turning George toward the exit.

The group strolled unhurriedly along the bay shore, enjoying the slanting evening light and the sunset glow, the salt air, and the camaraderie. Callie looked out across the bay. Frank was out there, somewhere. She smiled, imagining how much he must be enjoying his own party.

The cafe was not far, and the evening seemed to be just getting into full swing as they arrived. Some of the girls found tables and ordered drinks and dessert right away, but Callie was still full from dinner and wanted to give expression to some of her happy energy. She headed right out onto the dance floor with Bess and George and Nancy. The band was excellent, and Callie had always loved to dance. She joyfully abandoned herself to the motion and the melody.

Too soon, her tired feet and her aching back pulled her back into reality. Callie returned to their semi-populated table and found a seat beside Nancy, who was savoring a dish of gelato one tiny spoonful at a time.

"That looks heavenly," Callie said, and ordered the same.

"The drinks are good, too. We'll have to come again some evening after Miles arrives," Nancy said. "We'll make a girls' night of it, and Joe can watch the baby to give Frank a break."

"We'll see how Joe feels about that," Callie said.

"Joe adores that little boy already," Nancy said quietly. Something flickered behind her eyes for a moment, too fast for Callie to identify it. Making a mental note to touch on the subject in more depth at a better time, Callie changed the subject.

"By the way," she said idly, "what do you and Joe have going on, really?"

"You know I can't tell you anything!" Nancy said.

"Not even a little hint?"

"You'll like it," Nancy said. "That is the absolute most I can say on the subject."

Callie shrugged. "I had to ask," she said. The puzzle might have bothered her more at a more ordinary time. She was a detective's wife, after all, and an intelligent and curious woman in her own right. But right now her heart and mind were too full with wedding preparations and family problems and the baby- and on top of all of that, filling her senses and grounding her in this present moment, the sheer goodness of the evening. The sweet creaminess of her dessert, the breeze off the water, the gentle warmth of the evening air, all worked together to make her feel completely sated and completely content.

 _This evening has been perfect._ Callie lingered over that thought. Her earlier fears, that her pregnancy would put a damper on the evening, that her friends would be bored and the whole ritual would be a formality rather than a genuine party, had proved groundless. At no point during the course of the evening had she felt the slightest stiffness. Everything had been lively and genuine, from the teasing over dinner to the abandon of the dancing. And now here she was, sitting under a magnificent sunset, listening to the music echo out over the bay, her cheeks sore from laughing so much.

Callie was a firm believer in passing on compliments. She turned to Nancy and told her exactly what was on her mind.

"It's not over yet," Nancy said, smiling. "But I'm glad you're having fun. You deserve it."

As the sky darkened, the girls began returning in twos and threes to hug Callie and take their leave, until finally only a handful remained to walk the short distance back to the hotel. George and Nancy strode on ahead, tall and eager. Callie linked arms with Bess, whose feet were clearly hurting in their stilettos, and Abby, who was reeling a bit after one too many cocktails, and walked along contentedly at their slower pace.

The hotel room was every bit as luxurious as Callie had imagined it would be. She sank down gratefully on the king-size bed and giggled as a funny thought struck her. "Frank is sleeping in a tent tonight, and I get this."

"Hallelujah," Abby mumbled, swaying her way across the room to drop down beside Callie. Bess had claimed one of the plushy armchairs, and George was sitting cross-legged in the other, flipping through TV channels.

"Turn that off for a minute, George," Nancy said, opening one of her bags. She drew out a box of chocolates and a bottle of champagne.

"Gather around, girls," she said. "It's tradition time. Cal, I've got sparkling cider for you."

Abby sat up, looking slightly more sober, as everyone gathered around.

"We do this whenever there is a significant change in one of our lives," Callie explained, hoping her more recent friend would not feel unwelcome in the circle.

"I like it," Abby said. She did not seem uncomfortable.

"I feel a bit like a fraud, though," Callie admitted. "This isn't exactly a new beginning. All the new wore off before we even made it to the ceremony. I don't deserve champagne and chocolates." Her hands went to her belly, out of habit and frustration and fondness. The mood ring traced against her taut skin, another reminder of loss and of dreams unfulfilled, and Callie gasped. Impulsively, she tugged the mood ring off her finger and set it down between herself and George, completing the circle. They all stared at it for a moment.

 _When I feel as though my life has gotten out of control,_ Callie thought, pressing a hand to her stomach, _when I'm scared that my dreams will never be fulfilled, or that I won't be able to handle everything that's being asked of me, I always think of you. Your chance to experience all of this for yourself was stolen. I'm not going to waste one minute of this life, Iola. I promise._

Nancy broke the silence. "Cal, are you okay?"

Callie nodded. "I love that man," she said, brushing away a tear. "I'm going to marry him all over again. I'm not getting cold feet. It's just...it's overwhelming. All of it." She dabbed at her eyes with her hand again and George quietly rose and retrieved a box of tissues from the desk in the corner.

"Thanks, George." Callie took one and wiped her eyes. She was alive, and she was surrounded by love- a love which, a well-timed kick from Miles reminded her, was about to multiply even further. Maybe her life was not going the way she had expected it to go, but it was a good life nonetheless. She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and reached for the box of chocolates.

"I think I'm ready to celebrate," she said firmly.

Nancy smiled and raised her glass. "To Callie, and her new family."

With the initial solemnities observed, the atmosphere lightened considerably. Callie sat back against a heap of pillows, slipped her ring back on, and ate another chocolate, absent-mindedly patting the still-kicking baby. George resumed flipping through channels, and Nancy got up to go rummage in her bags of supplies.

"I have to pump," Bess sighed, retrieving her tote bag from the corner. "Will I offend anyone if I do that out here? I'd rather not hide away all alone in the bathroom."

"Yes," George said.

"Anyone other than my dear sweet cousin?" Bess asked, already settling herself on the bed.

"Go ahead," Nancy called. She was busy in the lounge area, setting out snacks and drinks.

Abby waved a hand magnanimously, and Callie shook her head. "Go ahead," she told her friend. "We don't mind."

"Thanks. Vivi nursed right before I left the house, but I knew I'd have to do this at least once." Bess looked up from connecting the tubing to the machine. "If you're planning to go back to work after the baby comes, one of these is going to become your new best friend. Don't worry, it's not as intimidating as it looks."

Any further serious discussion was forestalled by Nancy's approach. The titian-haired young woman bore a large container of cookies and several tubes of icing, which she set down on the bed. "I know I promised you gingerbread men, but these are actually sugar cookies," she said, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "And we have plenty of icing for decorating them. You can design your guy exactly the way you want him, for a change."

Abby pulled herself upright and peered over Callie's shoulder. "Are those...?"

George came closer, too. She looked at the cookies and smirked. "Finally, one I want to put in my mouth!" she joked, reaching for a cookie.

"Georgie, darling, how do you know you don't like it if you won't even try it?" Bess drawled.

Ordinarily, Callie did not pry. It was a long-accepted fact known to all the girls that George simply was not driven by any sexual urges. She had slept with exactly one man, to Callie's knowledge- her high school boyfriend, Burt. But tonight Callie felt comfortable enough to ask an intrusive question. "You've never...done that?"

George shook her head. "Hell no. There is nothing about that equation that appeals to me."

Nancy, who had gone back to get herself a glass of wine, joined the group. Callie could tell that her friend had a few drinks in her, because alcohol always made Nancy unusually tactile and talkative. Now, for example, she did not simply take a seat. She squeezed in between Callie and Abby and cuddled up to Callie, laying her head on her shoulder for a moment before sitting up and reaching for a cookie.

"What I like," she announced, "is when I'm doing it, and he's so into it he can't even form a coherent sentence."

Bess nodded appreciatively. "Mm-hmm. Or when he does this," she said, threading her own fingers into her hair in demonstration.

Nancy nodded happily. "Mmm. Yeah, and this," she answered, slipping a hand around the back of her own neck. She leaned toward Bess and lowered her voice to what tipsy Nancy evidently believed was a whisper. "Sexy as hell."

George made a face. "Ugh. Too much information, guys. Especially since one of you is talking about Callie's brother-in-law! Doesn't that bug you?"

Callie shrugged and piped a careful line of blue icing around her cookie's edge. She was honestly more amused than anything by the exchange. "I've lived with them. I'm totally desensitized at this point."

"If I had a brother-in-law I'd just pretend he was like a Ken doll down there," Abby announced, concentrating very hard on aligning the tip of her icing tube with her cookie. "I'm too damn drunk for this," she muttered.

"Thank you for that horrifying visual," Bess said, laughing.

"It would be easier if that's how everyone was," George grumbled.

"I will never understand you," Bess said.

"Oh, leave her alone," Callie said staunchly. "Not everyone has to be all about sex all the time."

"Thank you," George said.

Bess leaned in. "I have to ask. This has been bugging me for years. Is Frank like George?"

Callie smiled a private sort of smile. "Frank is...no, he's more like Nancy, actually."

All eyes turned to Nancy, who was licking icing delicately off the tip of her index finger. She froze, her eyebrows lifting. "Like me? What does that mean?"

"You know. Poised and a little reserved in public. Sometimes you come across as cold or analytical. But around people you trust, you have no problem letting go."

George was laughing. "Nance, you really are a lot like Frank! How did we not see this before? That must be why you and Callie get along so well."

"I can't imagine Frank letting loose," Abby remarked.

"I can," Bess said confidently. "He gets that look in his eyes sometimes. That's a man with hidden depths. I bet he can rock your world, Callie."

"You have no idea," Callie said emphatically. That was all she was going to say on the matter. She respected the privacy, the intimacy and the trust of the relationship she and Frank shared. _They have no idea what it's like to watch him lose control,_ she thought with a pleasant little shiver.

Abby held up her now-decorated cookie suddenly, recalling Callie from her thoughts. "Look, it's an actual life-size portrait of my ex!" she joked.

"Oh, honey. I'm not sure whether to laugh or cry," Bess said.

"Laugh, definitely. The guy was a jackass," Callie said fiercely.

Nancy slid off the bed and headed for the snack table again. "Anyone need anything? Snacks? Drinks?"

Bess, who was packing up her pump and putting her filled bottles into an insulated bag with an ice pack, looked up eagerly. "Wine, please, _cherie._ This might be my only chance, between pumping and the next feed."

"Avoiding the old pump and dump?" George asked.

"Yeah, I'm being good. Maybe I'll even be in the running for Mother of the Year," Bess joked, accepting her wine glass. "Thanks, darling."

"You're miles ahead of my mom," Callie said, the words spilling out before she thought them through.

"What's going on with your parents?" Bess asked. "Will they be at the wedding?"

"Dad has bypass surgery scheduled for tomorrow morning. He's going to be okay. But he's not going to make it to the wedding."

Her friends' faces all darkened with concern. "I'm sorry," Bess said gently.

"Are you okay?" Abby chimed in. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"I'm not sure what there is to say. I don't think I would have wanted him to walk me down the aisle, anyway, given his feelings about our marriage." Callie stared contemplatively at her suggestive cookie.

"But it would have been nice to have him there, and to have him support you," Nancy prompted.

"Yeah. That would have been nice." Callie reached for the other tube of icing. She sighed. She had not intended to talk about her parents at all, but she felt safe and supported, and it felt natural to continue talking. "I- honestly, I might be relieved. He wasn't going to be there to support me even if he had come."

She did not miss the glances her friends exchanged before Bess reached over to rest a hand on her knee. "Nance, here's your cue to butt out for a sec," the blonde said affectionately. "We all know you have the best dad."

"I won't say a word," Nancy assured her. Bess turned her attention back to Callie.

"I had a pretty shitty dad, too," Bess said frankly. "He was the reason I had a problem with my weight growing up. I was constantly dieting, and he was constantly putting me down. I get it, babe. I get how they can shape your whole thought process. I think it's good that he won't be there. It'll be a completely fresh start."

"I hadn't thought of it that way," Callie said slowly.

"What about your mom?" George asked. "Will she be there?"

"I'm not sure. She may have to stay at the hospital with him. Because he'll bully her into waiting on him, not because he needs the attention."

"That's too bad," Nancy said gently.

"It's awful," Abby said, looking genuinely angry. "You're their only daughter. You'd think your mother at least could be there for you on your wedding day."

Callie shook her head. "I'll have plenty of family there," she said simply, thinking of Fenton and Laura. As much as it hurt, learning not to look to her own parents for warmth and affection and acceptance, having the Hardys as in-laws went a long way toward making up for that. They were the warmest and kindest people Callie knew, and they treated her like a real daughter.

"And I'll have you ladies!" she added, smiling. "What more could I ask for?"

A few hours later, Callie cleared away the remaining cookies, a bag of chips, and several empty wine glasses and pulled a blanket over a sleeping Nancy and Abby. George had just walked Bess out to meet her ride home. The evening had passed in what seemed like the blink of an eye, with conversation which looped and flowed like a lazy river and a sense of companionship which wove around them all like a warm blanket. Callie yawned.

 _I'll just take a quick shower,_ she thought drowsily, remembering the luxurious bathroom she had noticed earlier.

Frank had no cell reception on the island, but Callie sent him a quick text anyway before climbing into bed, weary but glowing with a deep contentment. She wedged a pillow under Miles for some support and went right to sleep.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight: Rehearsal Dinner Day, Part One

 _Author's Note: This day was originally one chapter, but I decided to split it up because it was becoming unwieldy. The whole thing is drafted out already, so the second half should be posted a bit sooner than my usual posting interval. Thank you so much to everyone who left a review on the last chapter! I always appreciate hearing from you._

Frank eased himself gingerly into the passenger seat of his car, shuddering in protest against the cold and clammy feel of his rain-soaked clothes pressing into his skin. His head was pounding, and when Joe put the car in gear and pulled away from the boathouse, the car's motion made his stomach churn. Frank groaned.

"That is one hell of a hangover," Joe said cheerfully.

"Yeah, yeah. One for the record books," Frank growled. "Why are you so chipper?"

"It takes more than that to get to me. My body expects me to drink all night once in a while."

Frank groaned again.

"Let me know if you need me to pull over."

"Not gonna happen." Frank tipped his head back, closed his eyes, and focused on breathing. _Deep, even breaths. Inhale, exhale. Calm and focused. Let the nausea roll away._

"Your windshield wipers are shit, by the way," Joe said, disgust evident in his voice.

"Try turning them on, dumbass," Frank said, not bothering to open his eyes. _So much for calm and focused._

"They are on, dumbass," Joe mocked. "You need new blades." He never had had much patience for mechanical problems. Knowing Joe, he was probably itching to pull in at the next gas station and fix them then and there.

"Been busy lately," Frank said shortly. "I'll take care of it." _Inhale, exhale. Focus._

They drove in silence for a few minutes. Frank was actually beginning to doze off when Joe spoke again.

"When's Callie's dad's operation?"

Frank opened his eyes, sat up, and reached for his phone, ignoring the way his stomach lurched at the movement. At least his phone was dry. He and Joe were experienced campers and always brought a waterproof bag for their electronics. "Soon," he told Joe. "I should call her. Is that okay? I don't want to be rude."

Joe shot him a look which plainly asked why he was worried about etiquette. "It's just me, Frank. Call your wife."

Despite his misery, Frank found himself smiling slightly as he brought up Callie's number. The word _wife_ was still a novelty, a pleasant shock.

Callie answered on the third ring. "Good morning, handsome."

"You sound happy," Frank blurted out.

"Hello to you, too," Callie teased.

"Hi," Frank said softly. "How are you?"

"We had so much fun last night!" she said, and he could hear the smile in her voice. "We had dinner at the Regent, we went dancing, and I got to sleep on the most incredible bed. If I could have made it fit in my purse, I would have smuggled it home with me and felt no guilt at all."

Frank smiled, but accompanied it with a wince. Had the volume on his phone always been turned up this high? "I'm glad you enjoyed yourself," he told her. "Did the baby behave himself?"

Callie laughed. "I think he had fun. He especially enjoyed Nancy's cookies." She paused. "Are you okay, babe? You sound tired."

"I'm suffering the consequences of my own stupid choices," Frank said stiffly, closing his eyes again. Joe reached over and took the phone.

"He's about two more sharp turns away from puking all over the car," he said, more gleefully than he had any right to. Frank made a mental note to punish him, later, when he felt up to it again.

Joe was still talking to Callie. "Yeah, it went great...no...yeah, we're all soaked. Our tent is not as waterproof as it was ten years ago. If you're looking for Christmas gift ideas, you can add that to your list."

Frank snorted. "Not waterproof" was an understatement. He had awakened in an actual pool of water, with a steady stream dripping onto his sleeping bag from a small tear in the top of the tent. Any remaining dry parts of his body had disappeared as soon as he had crawled out of the tent. With the exception of Joe and Tony, who were bright-eyed and enthusiastic as ever, most of the guys had looked about as hung over as Frank felt. They had set to work hauling gear back to the boats while Chet, swathed in a garish blue poncho and holding a large umbrella, crouched over the embers of the campfire and tried to work a miracle with a book of matches and a heap of damp kindling. He had finally given up, half-choked with smoke, and passed out granola bars instead of the planned campfire sausage and eggs. At the time, Frank had been proud of himself for choking his unappealing breakfast down. Now it lay in his stomach like a lump of wet cardboard, filling him with regret.

Joe's voice filtered back into his consciousness. "Okay, here's Frank again," he said, and passed the phone back to Frank.

"Hi," Frank said again, swallowing hard.

Callie's voice was serious, now. "Frank," she said, hesitantly. "I- I'm going over to the hospital."

"Okay."

"I know I told her I wouldn't...but I can't just sit here, knowing."

Frank did not hesitate. "Go," he told her, sitting up straighter in his seat. "I'll take care of everything else. Go and be with him." He was surprised at how natural his voice sounded. _Don't go,_ was what he had really wanted to say. _I'm so tired of watching you pour love into that void._ She would need him to help her pick up the pieces of her heart again, later. Spending that much time around her parents was always destructive. Besides, Frank was a patient man, but this was supposed to be their weekend. Today, tomorrow, it was all supposed to be about their love, their commitment. Frank sighed. His head throbbed, and not just from last night's alcohol.

"I'm nervous," Callie confessed quietly.

"Everything is going to be fine."

"Yeah," she said uncertainly. "That's what everyone tells me."

"Hey. You think I'm pretty smart, right?"

"Yes..."

"So believe me. Everything is going to be fine." Frank poured all the sincerity he could muster into his words.

"Okay, smart guy. You almost have me convinced." Callie sighed. "I'd better get going. I love you. We'll talk soon."

"Very soon," Frank confirmed. "Be safe, Cal."

Joe cocked his head at him the moment he lowered his phone. "She's going to the hospital again?"

"She feels like she needs to be there."

"Shit," Joe said. Somehow, that one word was more than eloquent enough. Frank found himself nodding, and then wishing he had not.

"Yeah," he said, closing his eyes again. _Inhale. Exhale.  
_

Somehow, he made it home without vomiting. He stumbled out into the driveway and took deep breaths of the gusty, rainy fresh air, letting it clear his head.

"Think it'll rain like this tomorrow?" Joe asked. He had already begun transferring his sodden camping gear into the equally waterlogged bed of his truck.

"I don't care, because we're not getting married outside," Frank said tiredly, lending a hand with one of the bags. "Remember that when it's your turn. Don't gamble with the weather."

"No problem. 'Sensible' is my middle name," Joe deadpanned.

"Right," Frank said dryly. "Want to come in and get dried off? You can borrow some clothes."

Joe shook his head. "No, thanks. I need to get home and see if the damn Internet provider sent out a guy to fix our wireless yet. It's been down for almost a week now."

"Did you try- "

"Don't even start," Joe interrupted. "If you can think of it, I've tried it."

"Okay. Need me to get someone else to handle the airport run this afternoon?"

"Nope. I've got it covered. And if I were you, I'd get inside and find some aspirin before doing any more thinking."

Frank sighed. "Thanks, Joe. For everything." The words seemed inadequate. He struggled for a moment, trying to overcome his own natural reticence and the throbbing behind his eyes to produce something more meaningful. "I had fun," he said finally. It was the best he could come up with.

Joe seemed to understand. "Hey, anything for my brother. You're only gonna do this once." He had moved in for a quick hug. Now he stepped away, smirking. "Well, twice. You always have to be above average, don't you?"

"Someone's got to set the bar high around here," Frank joked back, regaining his composure.

"Maybe I'll surprise you one of these days." Joe hopped up into the cab of his truck. "Later!" he called.

Frank waved before turning and striding back toward the house. Aspirin had been a good idea. _But first things first,_ he thought. Working methodically, he stripped off his wet clothes and hung them over the shower curtain so they would not get musty. Then he returned to the kitchen, where he washed down his pills with a few long gulps from one of the cans of ginger ale left over from Callie's morning sickness phase. Yesterday's mail still lay on the counter. Frank glared at it for a moment, wrestling with the desire to sort through the stack and file everything away properly, before resolutely turning away and marching himself back into the bathroom for a hot shower.

Twenty minutes later- clean, freshly shaved, dressed in clothes which did not smell of salt water and beer, and feeling significantly less miserable- Frank returned to the kitchen. Callie had left her wedding errands checklist on the counter, beside the mail. At a quick glance, the list did not look too intimidating. Frank was confident he could have it all finished within the next few hours.

True to his estimate, and despite the continuing heavy rain which tended to hold up traffic in town, he was through running errands by one o'clock. His stomach was growling by then, too. That granola bar on the island had faded to a distant memory. Frank pulled up to one of his favorite restaurants. He and Callie ate here often, and he knew that Deanna, the head chef, would gladly put together a takeout order for him.

Thoughts of Callie swam to the forefront of his mind while he waited for their food. She had been on his mind all morning, really, despite his disciplined attempt to keep his attention otherwise engaged. The idea of her sitting in that hospital, waiting and worrying, gnawed at his heart. It was a relief when his order was ready and he could go to her. Maybe, after they ate, he could talk her into coming home with him.

Callie was not in the waiting room this time. Frank signed himself in at the visitors' desk and made his way down the hall toward the room number he remembered from his last visit. He had not heard whether Charles was out of surgery yet, but he hoped Callie at least might be waiting there. Sure enough, as he drew closer he began to hear voices coming from the room.

"The nurse I bumped into in the hall said things are progressing well. Maybe now you can come to the wedding." It was Callie's voice, strained with relief and hopefulness. Frank stopped outside the half-open door, waiting for Margaret's response.

"He's not even out of surgery yet. How can you be thinking about yourself at a time like this?" Margaret objected.

"But he's going to be all right. You can come for an hour, at least. Just come to the ceremony," Callie pleaded.

"I don't want to talk about this right now."

There was silence for a moment inside the room. Outside it, Frank stood still, torn between his good manners and his detective training. A small voice inside his head, a voice which sounded a lot like Laura Hardy, was scolding him for eavesdropping; but on the other hand (and this voice sounded more like Fenton's), it never hurt to gather information before walking into a situation.

Margaret spoke again, finally. Her tone was defensive. "You know I can't leave him while he's recovering, Callie. What if he needs me? What am I supposed to tell him? That I'm sorry, but it's more important for me to go to a party than to care for him?"

"He doesn't need you, Mom!" Callie cried. "He uses you! You've let him walk all over you for years. There's no reason you can't leave him in a perfectly nice hospital and come to your own daughter's wedding!"

Frank's eyes widened. He had only heard Callie snap like that once before in all the years he had known her. _Nope. Definitely not going in there now._

Carefully, quietly, he retreated to a bench a few yards down the hall and took a seat, setting the takeout bag down carefully at his feet. _It's about time she spoke her mind,_ he thought. _I'm not going to interfere._ As uncomfortable as he was with public outbursts, and as worried as he was about Callie's emotional state, he was also very proud of her for using her voice.

"Why are you so fixated on this stupid wedding?" Margaret yelled back. Frank could not remember ever hearing her raise her voice before. The amount of rage in her words was nearly palpable. Frank was taken aback, for a moment, before it clicked: of course Margaret was angry. She had been stifled for years. Callie's outburst had possibly just uncorked twenty-odd years of repression.

"It's important to me," Callie said. "And I assumed it would be important to my family, too."

"Maybe you should have treated it with more respect, then. Look at yourself! You act like you don't care about family, or honor, or doing what's right. That belly you're parading around is nothing but a slap in the face to your father and me." There was a short pause. Callie began to speak, but Margaret cut her off.

"And I'll tell you another thing. That man only married you because you got knocked up. He's got a reputation to look out for. He had to save face," she said, her voice shaking with anger.

"That's not true," Callie said. She bit off every word sharply, tossing each one out like a weapon. "Maybe you don't understand, because you've been married to a bully for a quarter of a century. Maybe you can't remember what a good man looks like. Maybe you- "

"Get out!" Margaret shouted. "You don't get to talk to me like this. Get out of this room."

"Gladly!" Callie shouted back. "I don't know why I came here in the first place!"

The door to Charles Shaw's room opened and Callie ran out, tears streaming down her cheeks. She had not seen Frank. He rose and followed her, abandoning his takeout bag in his urgency.

 _Maybe I should have stepped in at the beginning. I should have prevented this_ , he thought grimly. The argument had given him a new insight into both women's minds. Being so familiar with the participants, but not involved himself, he had been able to hear the words they had left unspoken. He had heard Margaret's fear over her loss of control of her smart, pretty, and once-docile daughter. He had heard Callie's plea for her mother to love her for who she was, to stand up for her for a change. But understanding all of this did not change the fact that he now had an extremely distraught wife and only a few hours left before their rehearsal dinner to console her.

Catching up with Callie proved harder than Frank had anticipated. She was still in excellent shape, and he suspected that only her swollen feet prevented her from leaving the hospital altogether. As it was, he had to go clear out to the waiting room before he spotted her sitting on a sofa. She looked up when she noticed him, but did not reach for him; and when he sat down and put an arm around her she leaned away.

"I'm sorry, Frank. Not now."

"You can't believe what she said about me."

"I don't." Callie sniffed. "Do you have a tissue?"

Frank got up and grabbed one from a box on a nearby table. She nodded her thanks.

"I didn't do this to spite her," she said, gesturing to her belly. Anger still sparked in her brown eyes.

"Neither did I," Frank told her.

"Are we terrible people?"

"No! Callie, you're the kindest, smartest, most compassionate, most creative person I know."

"Then why don't they love me?"

Frank's heart twisted in his chest. He forced himself to go on steadily meeting her gaze. "They love you, Cal. They just got twisted up in their own brokenness."

"We're not going to be like that with Miles."

"No. No, we're not." He held out his hand, tentatively, and this time she moved toward his touch, weaving her fingers through his and resting her head on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Frank. This isn't a great start to the weekend."

Frank turned to kiss her forehead. "I'm proud of you for speaking your mind. I'm proud of you for trying."

"I think I just made it worse," she said ruefully.

"Give it time." Frank rose, holding out a hand to help her up. "Let's get out of here. I picked up some lunch for us."

She just looked at him. He knew that look. His heart sank. "You're going to stay here, after all of that?" he asked.

"Yes. No. I- maybe just here, in the waiting room. I won't talk to them. I just want to know when he comes out of surgery."

"Okay." Frank released a long breath, trying to control his rising frustration. This was too much. She would be infinitely better off leaving. Was he really supposed to walk away and let her stay? He hesitated, and started to sit back down, but Callie grabbed his arm.

"You can go, Frank. I wouldn't mind being alone for a little bit."

"It doesn't feel right to leave you."

"I promise I'll call the second I need you."

"Or even if you don't need me. The second you want me, I'm here." He leaned over and kissed her. "You don't have to do this," he said in a low voice, cupping her face. "And you definitely don't have to do it alone."

She nodded. "I know. Thank you."

He kissed her again. "I'll see you at the rehearsal, then."


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine: Rehearsal Dinner Day, Part Two

Rain was still lashing down as Frank walked out of the hospital.

 _I should have grabbed my umbrella earlier_ , he thought, pulling up the hood of his jacket and striding determinedly out across the wet parking lot. _Aunt Gertrude would have a few things to say if she could see me now. 'Frank Hardy, it's raining buckets! Where's your umbrella? Sometimes I wonder if you boys even have the sense the good Lord gave a goose!'_

Frank's lips curled into a reluctant smile as he reached for his car door handle. Aunt Gertrude was a peppery, sternly devoted constant, a boulder in the shifting sands of time. She had lectured him with those same words countless times and would doubtless be using them on Miles within the next few years.

"It's raining buckets," he murmured out loud, starting the car. "Льет как из ведра," he added, because he could, though his usual sense of pride in being able to move so fluidly between languages was missing. Russian or English, the upshot was the same: he was soaked for the second time that day. Soaked, frustrated, hung over, and hungry.

 _Oh. Damn it!_ The realization hit him, suddenly, at the same time that his stomach let out a loud rumble: he had forgotten his lunch on the bench near Charles's room.

"There's no way I'm going back in there now," he mumbled, steering the car resolutely toward the exit. He would just have to go home. They were bound to have leftovers or something in the refrigerator. That was a reasonable course of action.

The resentment welling up inside him- well, he supposed that was reasonable, too. Any man in his position might have felt the same.

 _I shouldn't be going home alone. I should have insisted she come with me. This isn't how things are supposed to be going,_ he thought angrily.

And then the guilt kicked in. _I shouldn't be upset with her. She's doing the best she can._

The whole situation was exhausting. Frank took a deep breath in and exhaled slowly, focusing on the road, clearing his mind. He would just stop thinking about everything. He would go home, find a snack, turn on the TV, and not think at all. It was a solid plan...which was why he was momentarily confused when he found himself turning in, not to his own driveway, but to his parents'. For a second he considered turning around. But it felt right, being there. What better place to find physical and mental comfort than one's childhood home? Frank pulled up to the garage and parked his car beside his brother's truck.

 _What's he doing here in the middle of the afternoon?_ Frank thought, jogging through the raindrops toward the house. Two sets of wet footprints crossed the porch ahead of him. Evidently Nancy was with Joe. Could this have something to do with their little mystery?

 _Come on. Now you're just being paranoid,_ Frank chided himself, but he could not completely subdue his sudden surge of interest. A mystery was exactly what he needed to take his mind off his own emotions. Moving quickly and quietly, he stripped off his wet jacket in the hall and peered into the living room. Joe was on the couch, with Nancy curled up next to him. Both blondes were peering intently into a laptop screen. Frank could have sworn he saw a large picture of a Holstein cow before Nancy caught him looking and tipped the screen down.

 _Strange. Last time I saw a Holstein, it was chewing its cud in our bedroom at that upstate bed and breakfast,_ he thought. Aloud, he said "Hi, guys. Joe, I can't seem to get away from you today."

"I could say the same about you," Joe retorted.

"You promised you wouldn't take a case right now," Frank continued, taking a step into the room. "If you start chasing clues and disappear before the wedding, Callie's going to kill you."

"It's not a case," Nancy said quickly.

"Seriously. Not a case," Joe added, leaning back and looking up at him with those laser-focus blue eyes. Frank narrowed his own brown eyes at his little brother, holding him in scrutiny for a long minute. Joe did not back down. Neither did Nancy, when Frank switched his evaluating gaze to her. They were definitely up to something, but they were telling the truth. Frank filed this away in the part of his brain he reserved for the details of ongoing investigations.

"Not that we owe you an explanation if you're going to barge in here accusing us of things, but we're here to use the wifi," Joe offered after a moment. He looked irritated, and not just at Frank's mistrust.

"Yours is still down?"

"Don't get him started," Nancy advised. "We've been on the phone with customer service all day."

"No problem. Tech stuff is beyond my powers of concentration right now."

"What are you doing here? Are you looking for help because you just realized that tomorrow you're going to have to stand up in front of everyone and let some priest call you Francis?" Joe teased.

"We're not having a priest, and no. Where is everyone?"

"Dad's in his study. Mom and Aunt Gert are out."

"Having lunch with Hannah," Nancy chimed in.

"Okay." Frank started up the stairs, stopped, and turned. "Still on for the airport run?"

Joe was typing on the laptop again. Without looking away from the screen, he fished a set of keys from his pocket and dangled them for Frank to see. Frank recognized the Pritos' distinctive Lego Darth Vader keychain. Joe must have already picked up the van, then.

"Okay," Frank said again. "Thanks." And he continued up the stairs.

It was funny, but even now that he was a grown man, he still felt that old, familiar sense of awe when he paused before his father's study door. Every time he approached this room he felt like a boy again, awash with a mixture of hesitation and anticipation. What important investigation would be going on in that room today? What vital work would his knock interrupt?

"Come in," Fenton called.

Frank stepped through the doorway, and the spell broke. He paused and laughed out loud in spite of himself.

Fenton Hardy, the great detective, was doing a jigsaw puzzle.

"What's so funny?" the older man demanded, smiling broadly. "Everyone gets a day off now and then."

"It's not what I was expecting," Frank said. "I assumed you were doing some serious work in here!"

"This is serious. It's a thousand piece puzzle!" Fenton waved Frank over. "Gertie gave this to me last Christmas. I suspect it's her way of hinting she thinks it's time I retired. But I figured what the heck, I'll give it a try. Come take a look."

Frank reached for the puzzle's box to examine the picture. "It reminds me of the Tower Mansion," he said, referring to a Bayport landmark and the site of his and Joe's first case together.

"That's what I thought, too," Fenton said, reaching for another piece.

"Need a hand?"

"Certainly, if you've got time. There's too damn many trees in this picture and they all look alike."

Frank pulled up a chair and began sorting out pieces. "You're right. These all do look the same."

"Give me a nice, easy jewel heist any day over these fiddly little pieces," Fenton said, pulling a bottle of Scotch from one of his desk drawers. "Want a drink, son? I find that it eases the frustration somewhat." He re-filled his own glass and held the bottle up, raising an eyebrow at Frank.

"No, thanks," Frank said. He must have looked a bit green around the gills, because Fenton chuckled as he put the bottle away.

"I'm sorry. I forgot you're out of the habit. You didn't let Joe pull you off the wagon headfirst last night, I hope."

"He gave me a nudge. I jumped." Frank reached for another edge piece and lined it up with a section his father had already finished.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs, rapid and light, with a familiar slight pause near the top to avoid the one squeaky step. Frank knew it was Joe approaching even before his brother stepped over the threshold.

"We're gonna take off," Joe said. "I have to drop Nan off at home before I run to the airport. Thanks for letting us use the wifi, Dad."

"Any time," Fenton said easily.

Joe looked at Frank. "I may be a little late for rehearsal. Cal's friend Deirdre just texted Nancy that her connecting flight got delayed. She was supposed to get in a little before Biff's plane, but now we'll have to wait for her."

"Of course," Frank said tiredly. "Things can't just run according to plan."

"Would you rather I made two trips?"

"No." Frank rubbed his forehead. "I'm sorry, Joe. Thanks for doing this."

"No problem. See you in a while. I'll call if anything changes." And with that, Joe disappeared.

"Drive safely!" Fenton called after his younger son.

"Shouldn't Mom be home by now?" Frank asked idly, scanning the pile for the piece he needed. He had not done a puzzle in years but was finding it surprisingly relaxing. His worries about Callie and about the approaching rehearsal still loomed like a bank of dark clouds, but as long as he was focused on the shapes and colors before him, those dark clouds seemed to drift off into the background. It was like getting a reprieve. It was nice.

 _It's childish escapism,_ his conscience chimed in. Frank sighed.

Fenton glanced at his watch. "She and Gertrude had some shopping to do after lunch. They should be back soon." He sipped his Scotch and set it down carefully. He was looking at Frank; Frank could feel the weight of the older man's gaze, though he did not look up.

"Do you want to talk about what's on your mind?" Fenton said finally.

"How much time do you have?" Frank said. He meant it as a joke, but the words fell flat.

"As much as you need," Fenton told him.

Frank sighed. "Callie and her mom had another fight this morning. I don't know what to do anymore, Dad. I'm so tired of watching her go through this. What if I'm not enough, one of these times? What if I just can't put her back together?"

Fenton gazed at him levelly. "Does she need you to do that?"

"No. She's strong." Frank pushed at a pile of puzzle pieces without seeing them. "This was supposed to be a good weekend. It was supposed to be about us, not them. Why does she keep wasting her time and her attention on them? And why can't I just trust her?"

"For what it's worth, son, I'm proud of you."

Frank's head jerked up. "You don't think I'm weak?"

Fenton looked startled. "That thought has never crossed my mind." He reached across the desk to lay a hand on Frank's shoulder. "Callie loves you, Frank. I'm sure she wants to be there for you, the same way you want to be there for her."

"I know. It's just bad timing." Frank let out a long breath. "I might take you up on that Scotch."

"You don't really want a drink."

"You're right. I just want today to be over," Frank groaned.

"Look on the bright side," Fenton said, reaching over to pat Frank's shoulder. "With Joe and Biff held up at the airport, the rehearsal just might progress a little faster."

Frank smiled weakly. "Thanks, Dad."

That evening, Frank arrived at the historic River Heights hotel which was their wedding venue on time, armed with his parents' spare umbrella and the confidence his father's encouragement had inspired, ready and determined to get through the evening in better spirits than the rest of the day. But despite this, and despite Fenton's earlier optimism, the rehearsal went poorly.

All the other participants were late, for a start. They trickled in in twos and threes, dripping rainwater from coats and umbrellas and complaining about the weather. All the rain had somehow failed to clear the atmosphere. It was oppressively hot and humid, and thunder rumbled now and then as though promising worse to come.

Callie showed up in Nancy's car, wearing a tasteful, knee-length dress, her makeup impeccable and her blonde hair smooth and shining in the hotel's subdued lighting. Frank, who had been waiting in the lobby, nodded a quick greeting to Nancy before going forward to meet Callie.

"I could have picked you up," he said, leaning in to kiss her cheek. Her perfume surrounded him for a moment, delicate and floral.

"I was already over at Nan's anyway." Callie reached out a hand to straighten his tie. "You look nice," she added. The words were as automatic as her gesture had been. Up close, Frank could see both her weariness and the undercurrent of fury and anguish which ran so close to her polished surface. He lifted a hand and captured hers, enfolding her slender fingers in his larger ones and gently tugging her hand away from his tie.

"We're getting married tomorrow," he said softly.

"We're already married," Callie said, trying to pull her hand away from his. "Frank, don't. Please. Don't be sweet with me right now."

Frank let her go. Her eyes were very bright. As he watched, she blinked, and one tear traced its way down her cheek. She angrily wiped it away.

 _She needs to stay angry for now, or she'll fall apart,_ Frank realized. He took a small step back.

"Joe told me Dee's plane got delayed," he said, in a more neutral tone.

Callie nodded. She wiped another tear, which Frank respectfully pretended not to notice. When she spoke again, her voice was almost natural. "Yes," she said. "She texted me awhile ago. There was fog on the runway, or something ridiculous like that. I hope they won't be too late."

"Hey, lovebirds, when are we going to get this thing started?" Chet called out.

Frank took Callie's arm and steered her gently toward the assembled group. "Keep your shirt on. We're still missing some people," he told Chet.

"I don't want to alarm you, honey, but we do need to get things moving if we're going to make our dinner reservation," Laura Hardy said.

"The judge isn't even here yet," Frank said, looking around the room.

"Is that him?" Phil asked, pointing.

Frank looked back toward the doorway just in time to see Judge Cleary hurry into the room, trailed closely by an identical set of small boys. The man made a beeline for Frank and Callie.

"I'm sorry," he apologized breathlessly. "My babysitter cancelled at the last minute and my wife is out of town. I came as quickly as I could. Shall we get started?"

Frank found himself wondering how beneficial this rehearsal could possibly be to anyone. The entire thing was a disaster. The best man and several members of the wedding party failed to show up until the rehearsal was almost over. Myra, the flower girl, sat down in the aisle and cried because Bess was too busy consoling the teething and wailing Vivienne to walk with her. Judge Cleary's twins ran around the room and climbed on the rows of chairs until one of them fell and bumped his head. And Frank himself was nervous, suddenly, the reality of going through the motions so publicly sparking his discomfort with being the center of attention. He stammered and stumbled his way through the entire ordeal, blushing when Callie shot him a quizzical look.

But finally, the rehearsal came to an end. Both Bess and the hassled-looking judge retreated with their children, leaving behind a welcome quiet. And Frank sank down wearily in one of the waiting chairs. Tomorrow he would be standing up there, and these chairs would be full of people.

"You look overwhelmed, buddy," George said suddenly, pulling the chair in front of his out of line in order to sit astride it and study him over its back.

"That's a fair assessment," Frank admitted.

"But you know what they say. If the dress rehearsal goes poorly, opening night will be spectacular," Nancy said kindly. She sat down beside George, smoothing her skirt over her thighs before twisting to rest an arm on the back of her seat and look at Frank.

"This isn't a Broadway show," Frank complained. "I doubt the same superstitions apply. And why are you both staring at me? I feel like a microscope slide."

"Sorry. It's just habit," Nancy said lightly.

George ran a hand absently through her tousled curls. "Why'd you go through all the vows today, anyway? I thought those were, y'know, sacred. Only to be uttered under a full moon, in the presence of witnesses, etcetera."

Frank shrugged. He had found their quick run-through jarring as well. "Search me," he said. "I'm not sure why we bothered with any of this."

"I hear you," George said, nodding. She shared Frank's distaste for large, disorganized groups of people.

Joe slid into the seat next to Frank's just then. "Is this where the cool kids sit?"

"It was until a minute ago," George teased.

"Come on, Fayne. There's no need to be hurtful." Joe looked at Frank. "The rain is tapering off out there. Thought you'd appreciate that."

Frank nodded. "Callie will be relieved. She wanted a sunny day for the wedding."

"Speaking of which, where is Callie?" Nancy asked, craning her neck to look around.

Frank gestured toward the far side of the room. "Over there. Polly and Aunt Gertrude have her cornered. Everyone's been asking her the same questions all night."

"How's her dad, how's her mom, is she excited about tomorrow?" Joe guessed.

Frank nodded. His eyes were still on Callie.

"I'll go let her know you're ready to head over to the restaurant," Nancy said, rising.

"I appreciate it," Frank told her. In one tactful move, Nancy had simultaneously engineered some breathing space for Callie and let Frank know Callie would be riding with him to the dinner. Frank was grateful and more than a little impressed.

Joe slung an arm across the back of Frank's chair. "If you get nervous tomorrow, give me a signal and I'll stage a distraction. I'll faint gracefully into the judge's arms or something. I'm not too proud to sacrifice my dignity for my favorite brother."

"What dignity?" Frank demanded.

"I'm a classy guy!" Joe's arm tightened, suddenly, and Frank sensed the impending headlock and twisted instinctively away, coming into a fighting stance.

"Boys! Horsing around, at your age?" Laura Hardy exclaimed, grabbing each of her sons by an arm.

"Sorry, Mother," Joe said, grinning impudently.

Laura released them, brushing an invisible speck of dust off Frank's shirt. "Dad and I are going over to the restaurant now. Joey, will you please make sure everyone knows where we're going? And Frank, honey, I think Callie's waiting for you."

Joe snapped off a quick salute and took off to round up the stragglers. Frank, left behind, leaned in and gave his mother a quick kiss on the cheek. "Thanks, Mom. We'll see you over there."

Callie was indeed waiting in the lobby. Something about the way she stood there, patient and resolute in her pretty dress and a raincoat which did not even come close to meeting across her burgeoning middle, struck Frank as almost unbearably poignant. He wanted more than anything to take her in his arms and carry her home, where they could be safe and comforted and together.

Callie looked over, suddenly, as though reading his thoughts. "There you are," she said, unabashedly relieved.

"I'm here," Frank said, taking her arm and grabbing his umbrella from the rack. He made himself smile down at her. "So. On a scale from spilled ice cream to the sinking of the Titanic, how bad was that rehearsal?"

Callie smiled back, to his delight. "It was bad," she agreed. "Are you sure we can't just skip straight to the honeymoon now?"

"Say the word, Cal, and I'll take you as far away from here as you want to go." Frank knew his tone was too serious as soon as he had spoken the words. He opened the car door for Callie and held the umbrella over her while she got in. She looked up at him, her eyes wistful, but she said nothing. Frank gently closed the door and went around to his own side.

"I'm sorry about earlier," Callie said softly.

"You have nothing to apologize for," Frank said. "Did things...did it get any better?"

"I didn't speak to her again. I just waited until the nurse told me he was in recovery and doing well, and then I went home, grabbed my things, and went to Nancy's to get ready. Where were you?"

"Mom and Dad's," Frank said. "You could have called me." That little coil of resentment was building again. Why hadn't she called? He had wanted to be there for her. He had wanted her to be there for him. He tamped the feeling down and dealt with the accompanying guilt by saying, quickly, "I'm glad you could spend some time with Nan. That probably helped."

"It did." She looked out the window for a moment, watching the rain-washed streets roll by. "I missed you, though."

"You should have called me," Frank said again, helplessly. He had missed her, too, and in a way he still did, even though she was right here in his car.

Dinner itself went better than the rehearsal had. Everyone was feeling less stressed, now, and the atmosphere at their table was light and jovial. And if Frank himself had too much on his mind to really enjoy the excellent meal which was served, well, that was his own problem.

After the meal people chatted and mingled over wine and coffee and dessert. Frank made the rounds, chatting with Biff and his wife, listening to Chet describe his latest hobby, courteously declining to gossip about Charles with Polly.

And then he spotted it: Joe's phone, left unattended beside an empty cake plate. Frank could not resist. He reached out and picked up the phone- and it was the jigsaw puzzle, all over again. All his roiling worries receded into the background as the puzzle, the challenge, came into sharp focus.

Joe had threatened to change his computer password, but he had never said anything about his phone. And Frank had a few ideas about what that password might be. He had certainly worked with the man long enough to get a feel for his encryption style. The first two guesses were both failures. But the third-

 _Open sesame,_ Frank thought with satisfaction. _Now, where to start? Browser history, photo gallery, or call log?_ He hesitated for a split second before tapping the camera icon.

 _Okay, never mind_ , he thought, just as hastily backing out of the app. The first image was a photo of Nancy, sensual more from context and suggestion than from what it actually revealed, but sensual nonetheless. _If that's what he likes to photograph, I'm not going there._ Frank changed tactics, checked the call log instead, and was rewarded with a string of recently dialed numbers, all bearing an area code matching that of the location he and Callie were planning to spend their honeymoon.

Frank narrowed his eyes at the screen. _What is he up to? And why? Is it too late to change our travel plans?_

His skin crawled, suddenly. Someone was watching him. Frank looked up, dropping the phone discreetly into his pocket, expecting to find his brother's eyes on him. But it was Callie. She was not merely watching him. She was glaring, and her cheeks were pink with anger. When he made eye contact, she set down her untouched cup of coffee and made her way over to him.

"Seriously, that's your priority right now?" she demanded, gesturing toward the pocket in which he had concealed the phone.

"You're talking to me about priorities?" Frank blurted out, surprised.

Callie looked at him sharply. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you've been prioritizing your parents over me all weekend, Callie, and it's not right. I'm the one who actually loves you!"

There. He had said it. He toyed with Joe's phone in his pocket, turning it over and over, waiting for her to stop looking so stricken and respond. Part of him was recoiling in horror at having spoken those words, but Frank refused to let that part take control. He stood up a little straighter, kept his eyes on her face, and waited.

"That's not fair," Callie said finally. Her cheeks were not pink anymore. She was very pale, and very still, and though Frank knew this mood was even more dangerous than the shouting sort of anger, he could not let it go.

"You don't owe them anything. One visit, maybe. A phone call to check up after the operation. What the hell were you thinking, pouring yourself out for them, letting them hurt you? It's our wedding weekend. We're a family, Cal. You, me, him." Frank pointed at Callie's belly. "That's what's important. That's who loves you. That's where you should have been."

"Who are you to tell me who I should or shouldn't love?" Callie cried. "Anyway, if that's how we're playing it, you clearly love investigating more than you love me. You haven't been able to tear your attention away from those damn clues all weekend."

Frank had no response to that. They stood for a moment, staring at each other, breathing raggedly. Then Callie turned and stalked away. She was fast, unexpectedly fast, and she had slipped away through the crowded room before Frank could catch up.

Someone caught his sleeve in the crowd. He turned, jerking away angrily, and was met by Nancy's level gaze.

"Let her go," Nancy said softly.

"You know I can't do that. I need to talk to her."

Nancy shook her head. "Give her a minute. Joe's with her." She released Frank's sleeve but held out her hand instead. "I'll take that phone, by the way."

"What?"

"Joe's phone."

"Oh. Right." Frank dug it out and dropped it into her waiting hand. It vanished into her clutch.

"Thank you," Nancy said calmly. "They're around the corner over there. Go slowly."

Frank swallowed hard. "Okay. Thanks."

He could hear voices before he even rounded the corner: first Joe's, an inaudible rumble, and then Callie's.

"You big idiot," she was saying, her voice tinged with affection and exasperation. "I know this is a game to you, but you know how he is. He can't let things go. He should be thinking about us, and our stupid freaking wedding, not clues!" She paused. Frank heard her make a sound which could have been a sob, or a laugh, or both. He took a step closer.

"Could you...whatever you're doing, could you just hide it better? Because if he starts speculating about it one more time, I'm going to leave him at the altar. I can't handle this right now."

"Cal, you already married him," Joe pointed out. "But I'm sorry. I really am. I didn't mean to cause problems."

Callie sighed, a muffled sigh. If Frank had to guess, he would say that she had her face pressed against his brother's shoulder. "We've had nothing but problems all weekend," she said. "And I think I messed up, too."

Frank could not wait any longer. He stepped softly around the corner.

"Hey," Joe said softly, making eye contact with him over Callie's head. "I'm sorry for distracting you. That was pretty juvenile of me." He had his arms wrapped around her carefully, offering support and comfort. As Frank had guessed, Callie's head was resting on Joe's shoulder. For a moment, Frank felt jealous, but the feeling passed quickly. Callie and Joe had considered themselves brother and sister for a long time; she had probably sought him out to scold him and wound up clinging to him instead. Either way, he had provided a safe place for her to unleash her feelings, and Frank could not find it in him to resent that.

"Frank?" Joe prompted softly.

Right. He had been standing there silently for an awkwardly long time. Frank took another step closer and shook his head at his brother. "I'm the one who took it too far."

Joe kissed the top of Callie's head and gently untangled himself from her. "I'm gonna let you two have some privacy. You know where to find me if you need me."

Left alone, Frank faced Callie again. There was no fight left in him, no resentment. He felt miserable.

"What I said was unforgivable," he said.

"What you said was the truth," Callie contradicted.

"No. I had no right."

"Frank." She took a step closer. They were just barely separated now. Only a few inches of empty space lay between them. A few inches of empty space, and a vast gulf of emotion. But Callie kept talking, and with every word she was building a bridge across that gulf.

"You were right," she said. "We're a family. We are what matters, you and me, standing together. It's not healthy to keep holding out my heart for them to smash. Maybe it's time to let that wound heal over."

"I don't want you to turn your back on them. I love you for holding on. I love you for who you are. I let myself get frustrated and selfish and- "

Callie took one last swift step forward and pressed her lips to his, cutting short the words he was still trying to form. The kiss deepened and lengthened, rough and tender and desperate, and only when it ended did Frank realize that Callie's face was wet with tears, that his hands were clenched in the material of her dress as though for dear life, that both of them were trembling. He let go of her dress but bent and captured her lips again, walking her backward while they kissed until she was pressed against the wall. Having her in his arms again, having her communicating with him again, after this long and aching day, felt like a homecoming and a healing.

"If you weren't so pregnant," he muttered darkly.

"There's always the car," Callie whispered, hooking a leg around his to pull him as close as her current body shape would allow.

Frank laughed, surprising himself. "Feeling nostalgic?" he murmured. "It's been awhile since we tried that." His old car had been the setting for most of their early intimacy, back when they were teenagers and private places to be together were hard to find.

"Maybe a little," Callie said, tipping her head to allow him better access to her neck.

"I missed you," he whispered against her warm skin.

"We're back in alignment now," Callie whispered back.

Several minutes later, and several more long, dizzying kisses later as well, Frank managed to pull away.

"We should go," he said, resisting the urge to reach for her again. She looked tousled and well-kissed and beautiful, and he needed her. Whatever the day's emotional tumult had awakened in him was primal and possessive, physical and spiritual, and could not be ignored.

"Back out there, or home?" Callie asked, clearly hoping for the latter.

"Home," Frank assured her. He took a moment to steady himself, grabbed her hand, and returned to the dining room. The evening was about over anyway, and they were not the first to leave.

"Don't tell me you two are going home together!" Aunt Gertrude objected.

"Why not?" Frank asked, helping Callie into her coat.

His aunt looked horrified. "It's the night before the wedding. That can't be lucky."

Frank felt Callie's hand slip into his.

"We make our own luck," she said softly, almost shyly, looking up at him; and he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that all was forgiven and forgotten between them.

Back in the car, Callie reached out and rested a hand on Frank's knee.

"They're mean because they're full of fear," she said simply. "We keep each other strong."

Frank pondered that, as he drove. He already knew that where Margaret was weak, Callie was gentle; and where Charles was domineering, Callie was dedicated. All of the parents' worst qualities had gone into a crucible and been refined in the daughter.

 _I wonder which of my traits will shape Miles,_ he thought. _I wonder which of Callie's. I hope he has the strength to grow beyond our shortcomings._

And then they were home, and all pondering ceased. Before either of them could get out of the car they were kissing again. Frank did a quick surveillance check out of habit, but the house lay quiet in its blanket of humid night air, nothing seemed out of place, and Callie was kissing him. Long, deep, urgent kisses, reconnecting, reaffirming. Frank gave himself over joyfully to the moment.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten: Down the Aisle

 _A heartfelt thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter: max2013, sm2003495, EvergreenDreamweaver, Cherylann Rivers, Lydwina Marie, and LifeInTheGrey. Your support always makes me smile. There are just one or two more chapters left!_

Callie Hardy was lost in a state she often entered while painting: meticulous, yet abandoned; focused, yet relaxed; her only reality that of line and color and shadow, instinct and skill combined. And though her brush and her canvas were different this evening, the creative process remained the same. Callie was making herself into a masterpiece.

 _Frank is getting ready, too, just down the hall._ The thought bubbled up unbidden, bright as sunshine and twice as warm. Callie unclipped the last of her hot rollers and smoothed out the elegant waves of her hair with fingers which trembled, slightly, with anticipation.

 _I'm getting ready for our wedding. Frank is getting ready for our wedding. We're actually here, at the Larkspur Hotel, and it's our wedding day. This is surreal._

"Cal, I've got your 'something borrowed,' " Nancy said suddenly, approaching the vanity where Callie was seated.

Callie jumped. She had actually forgotten, in her absorption, that she was not alone in the room.

"Thank you," she said, as Nancy set a little box down beside her makeup bag. Inside the box, Callie knew, were the same earrings she had borrowed for her courthouse ceremony all those months ago.

Nancy hesitated. "How are you holding up? You've been very quiet."

"I'm great," Callie said, reaching for her hairspray. She paused, considering her own words, and turned to look at her friend.

"That sounded sarcastic. I totally didn't mean it that way!" she said quickly. "I'm fine, Nan. Really. And the more I try to explain, the less sincere I sound, right?" She made a face, frustrated.

"I'm afraid so," Nancy said. Her tone was light, but her eyes were filled with compassion.

Callie turned and looked around the room, making eye contact with each of her friends in turn. Nancy, Abby, George, Deirdre, and Bess were all occupied with different tasks, were all in different stages of dress and hair and makeup, but they all had one very noticeable thing in common: they looked back at her with the same solemn look of compassion and concern. Only Myra and Vivienne seemed cheerful. Callie's heart sank. She had been floating so deep in her happy bridal bubble that she had completely failed to notice the tension in the atmosphere.

"Why do you all look like you're at a funeral?" she asked slowly; and then, more quickly, added "Is something wrong? Is Frank all right?"

"Frank is fine," Nancy said quickly, reaching out to rest a reassuring hand lightly on Callie's shoulder. "I just passed him in the hall a few minutes ago. He's here."

"Then talk to me. What's the matter? Did I do something wrong?" Callie asked, bewildered.

There was an awkward pause. Finally Bess, who was working on Myra's hair, looked up. "We're worried about you, hon. Things looked tense between you and Frank last night."

"Oh," Callie said, torn between gratitude for Bess's honesty and guilt over having been enjoying herself while her friends worried.

"Not to mention all the garbage with your parents," Dee added softly.

"Oh," Callie said again, upset.

Nancy spoke up again. "We're here for you, Cal. Whatever you need, no questions asked."

"Okay," Callie said slowly, regrouping. "Here's what I need. I need to know that you all support this wedding, and I need you to be happy for me. And I'll probably need a little help getting into that dress, too. That's it." She knew her voice was a little sharp. She softened it slightly and spoke again, compelled somehow to explain herself. "Frank and I let ourselves get pulled out of sync, these past few days. We got overwhelmed and forgot to actually communicate with each other. But we worked all of that out last night."

Everyone was still looking at her. Callie shrugged. "You're my closest friends. If I were lying you'd all know it."

Nancy was the first to smile. "That's a good point," she admitted.

"It's true," Dee added. "Callie has just about the worst poker face in the universe...second only to Abby."

"Hey!" Abby protested, but she was smiling now too. The tension was beginning to drain from the room.

"I'm sorry," Nancy said, giving Callie's shoulder a light squeeze before releasing it. "I had to be sure. You haven't been yourself lately."

"So, all the drama is over, just like that? Poof?" George said skeptically, handing baby Vivienne over to Nancy.

"Poof," Callie agreed, smiling at George.

"Makeup sex conquers all, am I right?" Bess said, winking at Callie over Myra's head.

"Bess, there are kids in the room!" Nancy protested, bouncing Vivi gently.

"Lighten up," Bess retorted. "Vivi's too young to count, and Myra's not going to hear a word as long as I let her keep watching this cartoon. So spill it, Cal."

Callie could feel herself blushing. Dee had been right about her poker face. "I'm not sure where to start," she murmured, partly to pique Bess's curiosity and partly because it was the truth. She sifted through her memories of the previous night. _Frank's eyes, dark with love and need. Frank's hands, strong and tender. Frank's kisses, impatient, lavish._ Bess was right, in a very basic sense; but Callie knew that what had happened was much more than makeup sex. They had re-connected, re-committed, broken each other with wild words and rebuilt stronger and wiser. And in the wake of that, in the calm after the tumult and the passion, Callie was at peace. She felt almost as though she could draw on Frank's strength, somehow, and that she had lent him some of hers in return, so that neither of them was facing the world alone any longer.

"I don't buy it," George said bluntly, bringing Callie's thoughts crashing back to earth. "You can't just sleep with someone and magically be okay again."

"Look, it wasn't just- " Callie glanced at Myra, catching herself- "S-E-X. We talked most of the night. And no, everything's not magically okay, but...it's going to be." _It's like watching the tide come in_ , she thought, wondering if she could convey that feeling out loud. _It's like watching the water eat up all the imperfections in the sand._ All the misery of the past few days, all the churned-up emotions and the waiting and the miscommunication and the sorrow, were like an ugly, craggy sandcastle on a well-trodden beach; and the tide was coming in. Every footprint, every mound of sand, every bit of debris, was rolling under the deep wave of Callie's renewed peace and security and readiness.

 _No, there's no way I can say that without sounding like an idiot._ Callie shook her head and looked up again, seeking out Bess's face.

"I do wish things had been different. I do wish my parents were here. But Bess, I just keep thinking about what you said the other night. This does feel like a fresh start. It's going to be a good evening. Anything that happens at this point is exactly what was supposed to happen." She let out a long breath. "And that's enough serious talk. Let's finish getting beautiful, girls!"

"Speak for yourself, darling. I was beautiful when I got here," Bess said loftily. Callie laughed as she turned back to the mirror.

"What time is it?" Abby demanded breathlessly, spilling her bobby pins in her haste to get back to work. It never took much to ratchet up her anxiety level.

"Chill, girl. It's only a quarter to four. We have all the time in the world," Dee told her.

"We have just over an hour!" Abby retorted. "The ceremony starts at 5!"

"The ceremony starts whenever Callie is ready for it to start," Nancy said matter-of-factly.

"But we can't be late, because that would throw off the cocktail hour and the photos and the dinner and the dances and- "

"Ab, deep breaths. It's going to be fine," Callie interrupted.

Abby smiled. "I'm pretty sure I'm supposed to be the one talking you down," she said ruefully.

"I did my freaking out last time," Callie said, exchanging an amused glance with Nancy.

She returned to doing her makeup, immersing herself in the creative process again but retaining an awareness of the room. This was easier to accomplish, now, because the somber stillness of earlier had been replaced by a lively, happy atmosphere. Callie closed her eyes for a moment and listened to the layers of sound rippling around her, the melody and counterpoint of contentment: the music from Myra's cartoon, which sounded cheerful now rather than manic; George and Dee talking about working out; Abby and Bess gossiping about previous weddings they had attended; Nancy playing peek-a-boo with Vivienne; and in the background, the gentle sound of raindrops.

 _I don't even care that it's raining. Today is a gift_ , Callie thought, opening her eyes and reaching for her eyeliner.

"I'm sorry about the weather," Nancy said, with her usual uncanny knack for seeming to read Callie's mind. "You were hoping to have pictures taken in the rose garden, weren't you?"

"Yes," Callie admitted, "but the inside of the hotel is beautiful, too. I'm not going to worry about it."

"I've seen some super cute wedding photoshoots with umbrellas," Bess chimed in. "Too bad we don't have matching ones. We could at least do some group shots outside." She gave her daughter's hair one last pat and turned her loose to play with the dolls she had brought along.

"I bet we could scrounge up enough plain black umbrellas if we borrow from the guys and whatever guests are already here," George said thoughtfully.

"I'm on it," Nancy said immediately.

"Nan, you don't have to- " Callie started.

"It's no trouble," Nancy told her. She was already handing the baby off to Abby and slipping her feet into her shoes. "Super sleuth, remember? I'll be back in a minute."

As the door closed behind the young detective, George groaned. "Why did I open my big mouth? I hate photoshoots with props. I'm going to feel like an idiot prancing around with an umbrella. No offense, Cal."

Callie laughed. "None taken."

"I can do your makeup and make you beautiful for the pictures!" Myra offered. "And then you just smile. Like this."

"Like this?" George echoed, contorting her face in a terrible grimace.

"No!" Myra shrieked, giggling.

"Okay, short stuff, I think I need your help. Get over here and help me choose a lipstick," George said.

"No weird colors!" Bess ordered, shaking her curling iron at her cousin.

"I don't wear weird colors!" George shot back.

"Has anyone seen my eyeshadow primer?" Abby asked, panicking again, derailing the cousins' spat before it could begin.

"It's on the bathroom counter, I think. Here, give me the baby and you can finish up getting ready. I think she's hungry anyway," Bess said, shifting gears from feisty to maternal.

"Callie, do you have your old, new, borrowed, and blue?" Dee asked, pulling up a chair.

Callie had just slipped off her own earrings and was reaching for Nancy's. "These are my something borrowed," she said, tilting the box so Deirdre could take a look. "My something old is this hair comb. It was my great-grandmother's." She glanced in the mirror, pleased with the way the delicate comb looked in the honey-blonde waves of her hair. _Frank is going to like my hair like this._

"Is the baby your something new?" George asked.

Callie laughed. "I suppose he is. But my shoes are new, too. And my garter is my something blue. Speaking of which, where is my garter?"

"It's on your leg, babe," Bess said from the armchair, where she was nursing Vivi. "Don't you love pregnancy brain?"

"Yeah, it's my favorite. Last week I actually left the house in mismatched shoes. Tell me it gets better," Callie begged.

Bess crossed her fingers ostentatiously and opened her eyes wide in a faux-innocent expression. "It goes away the second the baby is born. You lose all the weight instantly, too, and your body just snaps right back to normal."

"Good. That's what all the baby books tell me, too," Callie joked. Turning back to the mirror, she tilted her head, observing her reflection more critically this time. "Is my eyeshadow too much? I don't want to look tacky."

"As if you could ever be tacky, princess," Dee said affectionately.

Callie was not so sure about that. She remembered where she came from. A person could not grow up in the Shaw household and walk away assured of her innate class or grace.

The door opened then, interrupting her thoughts. It was Nancy, pink-cheeked and smiling, with an armful of umbrellas.

"I return victorious!" she called out. "I peeked into the ballroom while I was downstairs. It looks like a fairy tale in there, Cal."

"Are there any people here yet?" Bess wanted to know.

"A few," Nancy said, helping herself to a granola bar from the communal tote bag of snacks.

Bess shot her a scathing look. "You're supposed to be a detective, honey. I want details. I want to know who's here and what they're wearing."

"I'm sorry. I was on a mission."

"Bull," Bess said. "You were busy sneaking a kiss or two or a hundred from Joe. Oh, yes, I'm on to you."

"I only went in there to find out how many umbrellas they had. It's not my fault if he kissed me," Nancy said, her eyes sparkling.

"I'm going out there to take a look," Bess said. "Who wants to burp the baby?"

"Heck no," George said.

"Don't move!" Myra said sternly. "You'll get glitter in your eye."

"You're not seriously letting her do your makeup!" Abby exclaimed.

"I have plenty of time to take it off," George said, shrugging.

Bess was still looking around for a volunteer. Callie held out her arms. "Here, Bess, I'll take her. I'm all set except for my dress."

"Thanks," Bess said gratefully. "But don't forget to eat something. And drink some water. Nan, make sure Callie eats." She had turned around to continue calling instructions as she opened the door, and nearly ran right into Laura Hardy, who was standing on the other side with her hand raised as though about to knock.

"Oh, Mrs. Hardy! I'm sorry."

"You're fine, dear." Laura stepped back to allow Bess to slip out of the room before entering and walking across to Callie.

"Forgive the intrusion," she said. "I just wanted to look in and see how you're doing. You look radiant!" The older woman stepped forward impulsively and gave Callie a careful hug.

"Thank you," Callie murmured, closing her eyes against the tears which threatened to well up. The maternal words and gesture, unrehearsed and sincere, filled an empty place in her heart which she had been trying had to forget.

"Let me take that little angel for a moment so Nancy can get you a snack," Laura said, reaching for Vivi.

"You don't have to do that. She'll probably spit up on your beautiful dress," Callie protested.

Her mother-in-law just laughed and took the baby. "It wouldn't be the first time or the last," she said merrily. "I remember one particular Easter Sunday when your husband spit up all down the front of my new dress just after we arrived at church. I had to mop myself up in the bathroom and hold him in front of the stain for the rest of the day."

"Here," Nancy said, handing Mrs. Hardy a folded cloth. "For self-defense. And Cal, this is for you." She set a bottle of water with a straw in it and a bag of trail mix on the vanity in front of Callie.

"Am I getting married or going hiking?" Callie teased.

"In this family, anything could happen," Laura teased back.

"You need energy either way," Nancy said firmly. "Now eat up, or Bess is going to blame me."

"Blame you for what?" Bess called out, closing the door behind her.

"Back so soon?" Dee asked.

"There are about 20 people here so far," Bess reported, retrieving her youngest daughter from Mrs. Hardy. "Thank you. I hope she didn't give you a hard time."

"I've never seen that baby give anyone a hard time, except last night," Laura said, dropping a kiss on Vivi's head before handing her over.

"She grew a tooth," Myra explained, continuing to dust George's face with glitter.

"And she let us all know about it!" Laura said.

"Are there really that many people already?" Callie asked, pretending not to feel a sudden twinge of anxiety at the thought.

Bess nodded. "Everyone looks so sophisticated, too! Except Ger- " She broke off, looking apologetically at Mrs. Hardy.

"No, it's all right," Laura said, looking conspiratorial. "I love Gertrude, but the woman has terrible taste. I've never known her to get rid of anything, no matter how out of style."

"What is she wearing?" Callie asked.

"A hat!" Bess burst out. "The biggest hat I've ever seen! With an artificial bird's nest on it! At least, I hope it's artificial."

"No, I'm afraid it's real," Laura said, shaking with repressed laughter.

The resulting merriment swept away Callie's incipient nervousness. She laughed herself breathless.

"This is the moment of truth for my mascara," she gasped finally, reaching for a tissue to dab at her eyes. "Am I smudged?"

"Not at all," Laura told her. "I think it'll hold up just fine." She hugged Callie again and smoothed back a stray lock of her hair. "I won't keep you, sweetheart. I know you need to finish getting ready, and I need to stop in and give my boy a kiss before it all begins."

"I'm really glad you came," Callie said softly. "Oh, I almost forgot. Will you please bring this to Frank?" She pulled an envelope from her bag and handed it to her mother-in-law, who looked pleased.

"A love letter? Now I know he'll be glad to see me," she joked. "All right. I'll see you all later, girls."

As soon as the door closed behind Mrs. Hardy, George scowled at her cousin. "Tactful, Bessie."

"What? She agreed with me!" Bess said, shrugging. "Guess who else is here?"

"The Queen, also wearing a silly hat?" George growled. She was bending over a small mirror, wiping away Myra's handiwork while the young makeup artist in question was distracted with a coloring book.

"George, you really need to finish up," Abby said nervously.

"Burt!" Bess announced. "Burt is here."

Callie immediately looked at George, as did everyone in the room. The brunette went on coolly cleaning her face.

"Burt who?" she said offhandedly.

"That's what I thought you'd say," Bess said, exchanging a knowing glance with Callie and Nancy.

"I'm going to put my dress on. It's almost time," Abby said.

"Ab, we still have 20 minutes," Deirdre pointed out. "Should we start with Myra's dress?"

"Leave Myra for last," Nancy said hastily. "She has markers."

"I should probably get into mine," Callie said. But before she could move, yet another knock sounded at the door, and Joe walked in with a hand clapped dramatically over his eyes.

"Jeez! We might as well just install a revolving door," George griped, grabbing the robe she had just untied.

"Is everybody decent?" Joe asked.

"You should have asked that before you walked in," Callie scolded. "What if we were all naked?"

"Then I'd have to wonder what was going on," Joe said, winking at her. "Nice dress, Cal."

Callie surveyed her own outfit, which consisted of shorts, a garter, and an off-the-shoulder maternity t-shirt, and then looked pointedly at Joe's running shorts and tank top.

"Thanks," she said dryly. "And that's a spiffy tuxedo, Joseph."

"What can I say? I've been focusing on my makeup all afternoon." He batted his eyelashes dramatically and pretended to shake back his hair.

"What do you need?" Callie asked, rolling her eyes at him.

"Mail call," Joe said, retrieving an envelope from his pocket.

"From Frank?" Callie asked eagerly. She stood up to reach for it, wincing halfway up and pressing a supporting hand to her belly. "Don't look at me like that. I'm not going to have the baby in the middle of our vows. It's just not that easy to get up these days."

Joe was still eying her cautiously. "If you say so. Why don't you sit back down? I'll grab you another chair so you can put your feet up. It's going to be a long night."

"You're worse than Frank," Callie informed him, shaking her head. She was amused and a little bit touched by Joe's concern- but she was also distracted. From the moment he pulled out the envelope there had been something odd about the way he held his hand. Not for nothing had Callie spent so much time around detectives. She reached out and grasped, not the envelope, but Joe's wrist.

"Hey," he said, tugging.

"Hold still," Callie said. She set the envelope aside and used both hands to turn Joe's hand, to pry open his gently-resisting fingers. He was much stronger than she was, and she knew that. There was something touching about the way he allowed her to overpower him- something sad, as though the real struggle were in his mind rather than in his body.

"I thought so," Callie murmured, looking down at his open hand. Slowly, she laced her own fingers with his, fitting the mood ring on her right hand against the mood ring wedged onto his left pinkie finger.

"I was supposed to be wearing matching rings with the other Hardy today," she said, trying to put him at ease.

It worked. When she looked up, Joe was smiling.

"Nancy helped me find it," he said, both embarrassed and pleased.

Callie tucked that information away in the back of her mind. Nancy, helping Joe find Iola's ring, helping him value her memory- she would think about that more later. But for now Joe was her priority. She searched his eyes and found no darkness there at all.

"She would have loved to be here today," Joe said.

"Oh, she'd be in her element," Callie agreed. "She loved a good party."

"I...Callie..."

"Joe?" Callie arched an eyebrow at him. Watching Joe Hardy, of all people, at a loss for words, was slightly troubling.

"I don't think she'd be my date to this wedding, if she were still with us. I don't think we would have lasted forever," Joe said. The words came out very fast, as though he intended to say his piece before anyone contradicted him.

"I think you're right," Callie said.

Joe looked startled. "And you're okay with that? And with this?" He squeezed her hand, indicating the mood ring he wore.

"I think you finally have a healthy perspective on the relationship," Callie told him. "And I think you're wonderful to remember her with me. And I also think you'd better give me a hug before I start crying."

"Come here," Joe said, bending to kiss her cheek. He held her too lightly, as though he considered her to be fragile, but Callie wound her arms around him and pulled him close. A moment later Joe jumped back, laughing in surprise and delight.

"He kicked me!"

"Kicking is mean," Myra said seriously, setting down her markers. Joe turned to answer her, and the serious moment slipped away.

Callie felt she had been patient long enough. She tugged the card out of the envelope Joe had delivered, smiling at the sight of Frank's familiar blocky handwriting. In the background, Joe was twirling Myra to make her giggle; but Callie barely heard it. She slipped back into her seat, rested one hand on Miles, and lingered over every word of Frank's note. He wrote the same way he spoke, with carefully measured words; but to Callie, who knew him better than anyone else in the world, his love shone through every letter of every one of those words.

 _I'm so lucky_ , she thought, tracing the lines of his signature with her fingertip. She knew exactly what Frank would say to that. He would look serious and explain to her about pheremones and commitment and maturity until Callie cut him off with a kiss.

 _I know all the science, and I know all about putting work into the relationship. But I still feel so lucky_ , she thought. She could remember being an awe-struck teenage girl accepting an invitation for a date with a boy she had always believed to be out of her league. She had not considered herself his equal back then. Though they had several friends in common, she was still just Callie Shaw, poor and studious and artistic, well-liked but not one of the reigning queens of Bayport High. And he was Frank Hardy, a natural leader even at that age; popular, handsome, and athletic; a boy who was quiet and studious but also intriguingly adventurous. He could have had any girl in school, and he chose her.

 _And nothing was ever the same again_ , Callie thought. Being with Frank had changed her life. He made her feel as though she did not need permission to be herself. The more time she spent around Frank, the more confident she became. Today, though she still looked up to him, the feeling was no longer adolescent hero-worship. She loved him for the very human boy he had been and the man he was now. She loved him for always seeing the light in her. She loved him for the past they had shared and the future they were building together.

A burst of laughter drew Callie's attention back to the present just in time to see Joe kiss Nancy and show himself out.

"Whew," Abby said, smoothing her hair. "I always feel like I've been through a tornado when that man leaves a room."

"Try living with him!" Callie said abstractedly.

"Yes, please," Dee said teasingly.

"Hey! That's my boyfriend!" Nancy objected, but she was laughing.

"What time is it now?" Abby asked for the tenth time.

"Time to get dressed," Bess said firmly. "Lock the door, Nancy. We're done having visitors. Callie, you'd better pee first. You don't want to have to go after that dress is on, trust me."

Callie obediently tucked Frank's note back into its envelope, slid it into her purse, and headed for the restroom. "I'm too pregnant for that to be anything but inevitable," she called over her shoulder.

By the time she stepped back out of the bathroom, her bridesmaids had all donned their dresses. Callie paused to look at them. The wedding colors she had chosen were as solemn as eternity and as playful as a sunrise: a dusky, twilight blue, accented with cream and gold and rose-pink. The women were all dressed in blue, and Myra was twirling and dancing in her ruffled gold-and-cream dress.

"You all look beautiful!" Callie exclaimed.

"We're just the background, darling. Let's get you dressed," Bess said kindly.

Callie stepped eagerly into her gown with some assistance.

"This one might be even more beautiful than your original dress," Nancy said, standing back to look at it.

"Oh...I loved that dress," Callie said wistfully. But she liked this one, too. While her first dress had skimmed the line between whimsical and elegant, this dress was pure elegance: a full-length evening gown in ivory, with a deep sweetheart neckline and illusion lace sleeves with a trailing floral vine design.

"You'll be relieved to hear that there's a hidden zipper under the buttons," Callie told Nancy.

"What a relief," Nancy said, grinning. "I think we spent a good hour just buttoning you up last time. How frantic was Frank by the time he undid all two thousand of those?"

"Who says he undid them?" Callie retorted.

"You bad girl!"

"Well, we had waited long enough at that point!" Callie said.

"Cal, you were already pregnant. Clearly nobody had been waiting for anything," Abby teased.

"It was our wedding night!" Callie protested, flustered. "And there was ice, and a cow, and it was just a long day, okay?"

"There was a what? How did I miss hearing about this?" Abby asked.

"Ooh, let me tell it! This is great," George said, and went on to explain about the cow. Callie was no longer listening. Something about the cow story was tugging at her subconscious, feeling more familiar, more current, than just a funny memory. Why?

"What do you think?" Nancy asked suddenly, and Callie let the question slip away. She let Nancy turn her toward the full-length mirror, and she could not help but smile as she looked at herself.

"I'm a bride!" she said in wonder.

"You're beautiful," Bess said.

"I'm...I'm very round," Callie said, standing sideways to the mirror and smoothing her skirt over her unapologetically protruding middle. The dress she had chosen was not cut to conceal her pregnancy, which was going to be obvious no matter what at this stage. "Should I have picked a puffier dress? Do I look obscene?"

"No, you do not look obscene," Abby scolded.

"You're not as big as you think you are," George added. "How are you feeling?"

"Fluttery," Callie said.

"Baby kicks, or butterflies?"

"Both!"

"When I'm seven months pregnant all I want to do is sit on the couch," Bess said. "You amaze me, darling."

"It's probably pure adrenaline," Callie admitted. "I'll be exhausted when the whole thing is over." She looked in the mirror and smoothed her skirt again, imagining Miles curled up inside her, blanketed in the soft, lacy material.

 _He's biding his time_ , she thought, feeling a curious sense of softness and strength combined. _Waiting and growing and unfolding there in the calm warm darkness. And we're out here in the light, making a place for him._

"Are you okay?" Nancy asked.

Callie looked up. "I'm ready," she said simply.

"All right, ladies, let's do this. Don't forget your bouquets, your lipstick, or your babies," George announced, heading for the door. Abby and Dee followed in her wake.

p"As if I could ever forget my girls!" Bess cooed, taking Vivi back from Dee and shepherding Myra toward the hallway. "Coming, Callie?"

"In a sec," Callie called back.

The room felt very empty, suddenly. Callie took a deep breath. She felt a little wobbly, a little nervous; but she was a long way from the wreck she had been the morning of the courthouse wedding. She looked at Nancy and said, simply, "Thank you."

Nancy nodded, and Callie could tell her friend was remembering that November day as well.

"Are you ready for this? It's not too late to have one of us walk you down the aisle, if you want some moral support."

"I'm ready," Callie said. "I- I mean, it's okay. I already belong to Frank and I certainly don't need to be given away."

Nancy nodded again, and did not push the matter. Callie was not sure whether to be grateful or annoyed about that, because she was suddenly very nervous indeed and walking herself down the aisle was just one of many terrors.

 _I didn't realize how many people will be staring_ , she thought dizzily. _I should have picked a different dress. I should have had my hair professionally done. I'm making a spectacle of myself, and what if Frank regrets the whole thing, and what if I trip or faint or-_

Callie pressed a hand to her chest. Her pulse raced as fast as her thoughts. For a moment she felt almost claustrophobic, unable to breathe.

"Callie!" Nancy said sharply. "I've got you."

A strong arm slipped around her. Callie leaned into Nancy's shoulder and forced herself to slow down. "I'm okay. I can't catch my breath. Miles takes up so much space," she said shakily. She breathed in again, beginning to feel steadier. "Don't leave me alone, Nan."

"I wasn't planning to," Nancy said mildly. She released Callie's wrist, seeming satisfied enough with her evaluation. "So much for being calmer than last time," she commented wryly. "It's a good thing I was here to catch you again."

Callie laughed. The sound was shaky but genuine. "Why do you think I asked you to be my maid of honor?" she said.

"I'd hoped it was because of my sparkling personality! But I suppose on-call medic isn't so bad." Nancy looped her arm through Callie's and steered her toward the door. "Come on. You'll feel better when you get moving."

"I remember that from last time, too." Callie paused. "Do I really look okay?"

"You really look okay," Nancy said patiently. "You look about a billion times better than okay. You're gorgeous, and Frank is going to cry when he sees you, and on top of that you are one of the strongest women I know. So no more second-guessing yourself."

"You really think I'm strong?"

"Yes. Why do you look so surprised?"

"Because of you're _you_!" Callie said. "You're a complete badass!"

"That is what it says on my résumé," Nancy agreed, pushing the button for the elevator. "But that could be because I let Joe type it up for me."

Callie laughed. "Thanks, Nan. I do feel better."

They rode the elevator to the ground floor in companionable silence and disembarked, eager to join the rest of the wedding party. And as they rounded the corner, they came face-to-face with Margaret Shaw.

Callie stopped short and stared, waiting for the surge of panic and anger which was sure to come. But though those emotions were there, jangling distantly inside her mind, what she experienced instead was a moment of complete clarity. She looked at her mother, and it was as though she were looking at a stranger. For what felt like the first time she really saw Margaret's defeated posture, her tired eyes, the pathos of her roughened and unmanicured hands clutching her ancient brown leather purse. The woman was wearing a dress which was obviously new, obviously bought and hoarded away for this very occasion, but which was somehow dowdy despite its newness. The dress was the wrong cut for her body shape, the wrong color for her complexion; neither her serviceable old pumps nor her purse matched the occasion; and her lipstick and eye makeup both seemed drawn on with an uncertain hand. Callie saw all of this- but above all, she saw that Margaret had tried. She had tried very hard, and the knowledge of it broke Callie's heart.

After a moment Callie became aware of the bigger picture: of the time on the clock hanging nearby, of the muted chatter emanating from the ballroom, of the unnatural stillness of the wedding party waiting and watching from the end of the hall, and especially of Nancy waiting by her side like a faithful watchdog, radiating protective menace.

"Nancy," Callie said quietly, "will you please find an usher?" Joe would not have done it. Even any of the other girls might have refused out of blind loyalty. But Nancy understood the compassion and the fortitude in Callie's eyes, and she obeyed.

"I'm not here to cause trouble," Margaret said, as soon as Nancy was gone. For the first time in months she looked up and made real eye contact with her daughter. Callie nearly recoiled from the intensity of the fear and worry and hope she found there.

"He doesn't know I'm here," Margaret said uncomfortably. "He fell asleep, and I- I just had to see..."

Callie waited.

"You look happy," Margaret said. It was almost an accusation.

"I am happy," Callie said simply. _Happy enough to be generous. Strong enough to be kind. Didn't Frank and I talk about that?_ She wished Frank were by her side now.

Margaret was speaking again. "I don't understand the choices you've made. I can't pretend to approve. But- well, I just had to see you. I don't want to lose my only child."

"You're not losing me," Callie said, though she knew that unless Margaret's strange moment of courage inspired a revolution, the choice would ultimately be her father's. She swallowed hard. "Don't lose me," she said, phrasing it as a plea this time.

"I'm here, aren't I?" Margaret said gruffly.

A few days earlier, Callie might have stumbled gladly forward to embrace her mother. But too much had passed between them. She swallowed again and looked at the older woman for a long moment, hardly daring to accept the crumbs of love and acceptance thrown her way.

She did not have the time or the emotional leeway to consider any of this right now. So she did the one thing she could do: she pulled a small rose out of one side of her bouquet and held it out to Margaret as a helpless offering, a sign of truce.

In her peripheral vision Callie could see Nancy waiting with the usher. She shaped her lips into a smile, hoping it was not too wobbly.

"Thank you for being here," she said. "We saved you a seat."

"This way, ma'am," the usher said, stepping forward. Margaret gave Callie one last searching look and followed him away down the hall.

Only when Margaret had disappeared into the ballroom did Callie become aware of her shaking hands, her wobbly knees, of Miles hiccuping in her belly. Suddenly Nancy's arm was around her again, Chet was offering her a sip of water, and she was surrounded by faces as wide-eyed as a flowerbed full of daisies.

"And you called me a badass," Nancy murmured.

"Talk about killing with kindness!" George added.

"Give her some space, people," Biff boomed.

Joe was there, suddenly, his lips set in a grim line. "Frank's waiting. Callie, do you know who they just let in?"

"It's okay, Joe," she said.

He still looked unhappy. "I mean it. Don't worry about it," Callie told him. "Go get in line, all of you. I'm ready."

Nancy reached for Joe's hand. "Come on. I'll fill you in."

Callie took her place at the back of the line, behind the pairs of bridesmaids and groomsmen, and fidgeted with the ribbon on her bouquet. She suddenly wanted more than anything to see Frank. She missed him.

 _You just saw him this morning_ , she told herself sternly. _Don't be ridiculous._

"All right, Cal?" Tony murmured, turning to look at her.

"You all get to walk in pairs," she murmured back. "I have to go alone."

"You're not alone," Myra said, patting the bump that was Miles.

"You're right," Callie said, smiling. "You are absolutely right, you clever girl. I feel much better."

A moment later, the procession began. Joe and Nancy, Chet and Abby, Phil and Bess, Tony and George, Biff and Dee- one by one, each pair passed through the double doors ahead. Myra's grandmother, who was holding the sleeping Vivienne, whispered "Just walk to Mommy" and pointed the little girl down the aisle. She offered Callie a friendly smile as she stepped forward to wait her turn. Callie did not know Mrs. Marvin well, but she appreciated the kindness.

And then- it was like a dream, the vivid and beautiful kind of dream which leaves its stamp on the unconscious mind forever. Surely she had never been so completely filled with joy in waking life, had she? She was walking down the aisle, surrounded by the scent of roses and by friendly faces made more beautiful by joy and candlelight; but it was Frank's face, completely and unabashedly awe-struck, that filled her vision. She was walking down the aisle to him and him alone. She had been afraid she would feel like a fraud. She had been afraid of feeling alone. She had been afraid that Frank would not find her beautiful. Those fears were drowned now, swept away by the adoration in his eyes and the love which filled the entire room.

Afterwards, Callie was never sure whether that walk lasted an eternity or the blink of an eye. What she was sure of was the joy she felt when she reached his side. Frank put out a hand to take hers and then threw decorum to the wind and pulled her into a warm embrace. When he let go Callie saw the tears and the laughter in his brown eyes and knew they were mirrored in her own.

The judge cleared his throat, suddenly. Callie blushed and broke away to hand her slightly rumpled bouquet over to Nancy before turning back quickly to link hands with Frank. He was still grinning, looking roguish and not at all embarrassed.

"Sorry, Judge Cleary. I'll behave now," he promised, much to everyone's amusement.

 _No matter what happens tomorrow, or next year, or in fifty years, this is exactly where we should be: standing up in the face of the universe, weaving a new knot into the cords which bind us_ , Callie thought amid the general laughter. She smiled up at Frank, knowing there was only one way she would be able to shape this outpouring of joy into words, and wondering how she would have the patience to wait for her turn to speak. The words already seemed engraved on her soul. When the time finally came, Callie's voice rang out with purity, confidence, and all the love in her heart.

 _I, Callista, take thee, Francis, to be my lawfully wedded husband,_

 _To have and to hold,_

 _For better or for worse,_

 _For richer or poorer,_

 _In sickness and in health,_

 _As long as we both shall live._


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven: Reception

 _Author's Note: Forgive the delay. This chapter just about wraps up the story! It's also the last one of any real importance, plot-wise (and even that is stretching the meaning of the word "importance." What we have here is mainly a pair of unapologetically elated newlyweds.). I am planning one final chapter, but the rating level of that one may be a bit more toward an M rating than a T, so feel free to skip it if you're not comfortable._

 _I'd like to take this opportunity to thank everyone who read, and especially those who left reviews. You're all so encouraging, insightful, and kind. This story began as a simple, uncomplicated bit of wedding fun and quickly developed layers of emotional intensity as I began to draft it. It's been a hell of a challenge, but it's been fun, too. So thanks again, and I hope you enjoy the reception!_

"Hey, Frank, remind me again. Which bridesmaids are single?" Tony asked, his voice carrying easily over the music which filled the room.

"All of them except Nancy and Bess," Frank said warily. "But don't- "

"Thanks," Tony interrupted. He rose, adjusting his cuff links and casting an appraising look out over the dance floor. "Wish me luck, gentlemen. I'm going in."

"Tony, you can't just- damn it, he's not listening." This time Frank interrupted himself, shaking his head in disgust. His friend was already out of earshot. "I should have lied," he muttered.

"Go easy on him, man," Phil said, taking another sip of his drink. "You don't remember what it's like to be single."

Frank raised an eyebrow. "Please. Tony hasn't had a week without at least one date since he was 15."

"The man has talent," Phil agreed. He took one last sip from his glass and pushed his chair back. "I'm getting another one of these. Want anything from the bar?"

Frank shook his head. "I'm good. Thanks."

"Pacing yourself this time, Hardy?" Ned commented, pulling out a chair at their table for his girlfriend, Emily.

"You could say that," Frank said, turning toward the newcomers.

"Congratulations, Frank!" Emily said enthusiastically.

"Right. Congrats," Ned echoed, reaching around Emily to shake Frank's hand.

"Thank you," Frank said.

"I was just telling Ned that I think this is the prettiest wedding I've ever been to," Emily continued, her enthusiasm undiminished. She released Ned's hand to make a sweeping gesture, encompassing the entire room.

Prompted by her eagerness, Frank looked around. All the little details which he and Callie had spent so long curating in their imaginations had now bloomed into reality. He saw it all again, now, as though for the first time: the long, elegant room, with its French doors at the far end (flung open, now, to let in the rain-cooled evening air and the view of a streaky red sunset illuminating the long green lawn); the rose centerpieces blushing warmly in contrast to the cream-colored tablecloths; the soft lighting; and the dance floor, crowded with joyful faces and moving bodies.

"Thanks," he said again, looking back toward Emily. "Callie put her heart into planning this." Truthfully, so had he; but though he was gratified that everything had gone so well, his chief emotion right now was relief. Relief that it was almost over. Relief that all the pressure was off. The vows had been spoken, the photographs taken, the formal dances danced, the toasts drunk, the cake cut; and now all that remained was to enjoy the party.

"I can tell she did," Emily said, nodding. "Every detail is absolutely perfect. I might just have to hire Callie as my wedding planner one of these days." She spoke lightly and smiled, playing off her words as a joke, but Frank could see the genuine eagerness in her eyes. He winced, internally.

 _Don't push it,_ he begged her, mentally. Weddings always seemed to make women impatient; and Frank could tell by the way Ned's gaze had wandered off toward a certain titian-haired young lady on the dance floor that it was not in Emily's best interest to keep hinting tonight.

Emily, however, lacked Frank's perceptiveness. She put a hand on Ned's knee and turned her smile on him, increasing its voltage. "Won't we, darling?"

"Sure, Em. Sounds great. Where is Callie, anyway?" Ned asked hastily, draping an arm across the back of Emily's chair as though the affectionate display could erase the moment of discontent Frank had already observed. "I thought you two would be joined at the hip all night."

"I've seen surprisingly little of her since we cut the cake," Frank admitted. "People keep wanting to talk to us."

"I keep telling you, just start yelling out 'Marco!' and wait for her to shout 'Polo!' " Jerry advised, plunking himself down in Phil's vacated chair.

"I'll let you give that one a try," Frank said dryly. "Ten bucks says only Joe yells 'Polo' back."

"You're on," Jerry said.

"There she is!" Emily said suddenly. "Over there!"

Frank turned to follow Emily's line of sight and was rewarded with a flash of white lace, a gleam of blonde hair, from across the room. He rose swiftly. "Sorry, guys. It's not that I wasn't enjoying your company."

"Go on," Ned said, waving him away. "Catch up before she disappears again."

"Don't think you're off the hook for that bet," Jerry called after him.

"Another time!" Frank called back.

On an average day, Frank had no trouble working his way through a crowd. He was a tall, strong-looking man with an innate gravitas which served him well in these situations. All he had to do was look serious and keep moving, and most people would instinctively step out of his path.

But tonight- well, tonight was hardly average. Tonight his path was clogged with well-wishers, and he found himself smiling too frequently to maintain a serious expression. By the time he had worked himself free of several hugs, countless handshakes, and a flurry of congratulations, Callie was no longer standing where Emily had spotted her.

 _She can't have gone far,_ Frank thought, scanning the immediate vicinity. _It shouldn't be so hard to track her down, anyway. She's the only one in the room dressed in white...There she is._

She had not gone far at all. She was on the dance floor with Joe and they were swaying idly, their dance half-forgotten in what looked to be an engrossing conversation. As Frank watched, something Joe said made Callie frown; and even frowning, she was incandescent.

 _She's so beautiful._

Frank began making his way toward her. The thought had been hitting him all evening, over and over, rattling around in his brain and his heart until he wanted to burst with it. Callie was like a completed circuit, electric, elegant. She was like the moment he solved a case. She was home and truth and hope and beauty and he was beginning to think that if he did not get her alone soon to tell her all of these things, he might actually die.

 _Dramatic, Hardy,_ he thought, trying not to laugh. _I think it's time to lay off the alcohol._

Joe had spotted him, now. "Frank!" he called, twirling Callie and giving her a gentle push toward his brother. "Your wife is meddling in my personal life."

"I'm not meddling! I'm offering guidance!" Callie protested.

"Let me guess: she asked when she'd be dancing at your wedding," Frank said lazily, tracing a fingertip down Callie's spine and over the buttons on her dress. Only when she glanced at him with slight surprise did he remember that he did not usually touch her that way in public. He pulled his hand away from the line of buttons and reached out to hold her hand instead. Callie and Joe were already talking over each other, answering him.

"Why does everyone keep asking me that?"

"It's so obvious they're meant to be together. I just wanted to know what he's waiting for."

Frank raised an eyebrow at his wife. "If they're meant to be together, there's no reason to rush things," he pointed out. "Seriously, what is it about weddings? Every woman in this room is drunk on romance right now."

"We just want everyone to be happy. What's wrong with a little romance?" Callie demanded.

"Careful," Joe said, laughing at Frank. "That sounds like a trap to me."

"I've got this," Frank said. "Cal, quit bugging Joe. You know the best way to make him dig his heels in is to give him a shove. And Joe," he added, wheeling back toward his brother, "I know what you're really doing."

"Oh?" Joe asked coolly.

"You're coasting, because you're scared."

Joe's face gave away nothing. Callie's, in contrast, was a study in bewilderment.

"Scared of what? She adores you."

"It's not that simple," Joe said, shrugging, and Frank nodded along.

"Don't tell me you think she'll do the same thing she did with Ned," Callie continued. "She wasn't afraid of commitment. She was afraid of the kind of future Ned wanted."

"I get that, Cal," Joe said, a little softer this time. "Frank knows what I mean."

Frank realized, suddenly, that he was toying with Callie's buttons again. He slid his hand firmly around to rest on her waist, trying not to let the warmth of her skin through the ivory lace distract him, and he nodded at his brother. "I know," he said, remembering Joe's genuine happiness back when Nancy had left town to pursue her future on her own terms. His fear now had nothing to do with mistrust. It was the same fear Frank had felt with that ring box sitting like a dormant volcano in his pocket: the fear of getting it wrong, the fear of fracturing a relationship with words spoken too early or too late or simply out of tune. The fear of inevitable, drastic change.

"It's hard to explain," he told Callie, simply, knowing that to her it was a simple matter. Her "yes" had never been in question, in her mind.

Joe sighed. "Okay. So, you know. But I still have a few secrets from you," he added, brightening. "Including one very big one, actually, which- "

"Don't you dare bring that up tonight!" Callie scolded, the affection in her voice threaded through with sternness. "I don't want my honeymoon spoiled by an investigation into whatever wild goose chase you've had Frank on."

"It's not a wild _goose_ chase," Joe said.

 _Why did he emphasize that word?_ Frank wondered, filing that bit of information away before reaching out to pull Callie close. "Don't worry," he said. "You're the only mystery I care about tonight, and I plan to spend every second investigating you."

Callie laughed. "I'm not sure whether that was sexy or corny."

"Definitely sexy," Frank told her. He never talked that way in front of people, and the part of him that was not liberated by the alcohol and hormones surging in his blood was embarrassed; but with Callie smiling up at him the way she was now, radiant and carefree, his embarrassment seemed irrelevant.

 _Anyway, the only one close enough to overhear is Joe,_ he told himself. _There's no shame in sounding stupid in front of Joe. He never worries about that._ Besides, Joe probably came closer than anyone else in the world to comprehending the depth of Frank's love for Callie. He had protected them, lied for them when necessary, and supported their relationship for years now.

A surge of gratitude made Frank release Callie for a moment and turn toward his brother. If he had been a different sort of man, he might have embraced Joe, thanked him for standing by them, and maybe even cried. But, being Frank, he simply shook his hand heartily. Joe seemed to understand. There was an unmistakable softness in his eyes as he returned the handshake, sketched a quick salute in reply, and slipped away toward a group of friends at the bar.

"You two say more with your eyes in one minute than most people say out loud all day," Callie remarked, almost wistfully.

"We just blink it out in Morse code," Frank teased, taking her back into his arms. The music had changed to something slow, almost sultry, and he wanted to dance with his wife.

"Frank," Callie said.

"Callie." His voice was pitched low, the syllables of her name slipping out like a caress. He expected Callie to melt, to sink deeper into his arms- and was surprised when she giggled, shook her head, and reached back to grab one of his hands.

"Could you quit groping me in public, and leave the buttons alone for five minutes?" she begged, moving his hand higher up her back.

"I'm just trying to count them so I know what to expect later," Frank teased.

"I have a secret for you." Callie leaned in, rising up on tip-toe to whisper directly into his ear. "The buttons are just for show. There's a zipper underneath."

Frank groaned. "You're so good to me."

"And don't you forget it," Callie said lightly.

"I'm not sure I want to wait, now," he said, only half-joking. "Come upstairs with me. I want to slide that zipper down and spend the rest of the night thanking you properly for marrying me."

Callie reached up, slipping her fingertips into the short hair at the back of his neck and tugging him down a little so she could kiss him. "Soon," she promised. "Let's dance a little longer."

The music continued, its slow pulse easing the wild rush of Frank's desire, tempering it into something more patient, more grounded.

In his arms, Callie sighed happily. "Tonight has been perfect."

"I know," was all Frank could think to say, though the words fell short of his feelings about the evening. She was right, it was perfect- the ambiance, the friends and family, everything. There was just one thing bothering him. Distracted as he was by Callie and his own happiness, the thoughts kept popping up.

And Callie knew. He could feel her eyes on him for a moment, the weight of her consideration, a brief trial, and then the verdict. "You're still thinking about Joe's little mystery game."

"Off and on. Mostly off." Frank paused, then blurted out "Why did he emphasize the word _goose_? And who did he call in Rhode Island?" He knew his guilt must have showed on his face, because she shook her head impatiently.

"It's okay, Frank. I wouldn't know who you were anymore if you stopped trying to solve puzzles."

He appreciated her words, but not as much as he appreciated the adorably earnest look on her face, the way her eyebrows drew together slightly. He bent again and kissed her forehead, right between those earnest eyebrows, and then again on the bridge of her nose for good measure.

"Frank," she said, laughing.

"Callista," he said back, imitating her tone.

"I don't know what's gotten into you tonight, but I like it."

"We just got married," Frank said matter-of-factly.

The laughter in Callie's eyes turned dreamy. "We really did," she agreed, tipping her face up for a proper kiss. Frank obliged readily.

"I love you," he whispered, grown serious now. "I love you so much."

/\\\\\\\/\\\\\\\/\\\\\\\/\\\\\\\/\\\\\\\/\\\\\\\

Frank's words hung between them for a moment, warm and sweet as the breeze drifting in through the open doors. Then, as suddenly as it had come, the tender moment passed. Frank winked at her and pulled her into the dance again, touching her this time with the exaggerated decorum which meant he was trying to appear less tipsy than he clearly was. Callie knew him well enough that this did not fool her, and would not have fooled her even before his hands had started wandering earlier. He was not drunk, exactly, but he was buzzed enough to move left a few times when he should have moved right, buzzed enough to sing along with the last lines of the song and give Callie an extra little twirl before pulling her back into his arms for a kiss. Callie knew the feeling. Even though she could not drink alcohol right now, she still felt a similar rush, bubbly and warm and relieved and joyful.

"This is fun," Callie said, smiling up at him. In the dimness of the dance floor, under cover of music and moving bodies, their little corner almost felt private. She reached up to run her fingers through his tousled hair and tugged his face downwards for another kiss.

"What did you say?" Frank asked, his lips moving against hers and his hand at her waist coaxing her into a gentle sway to the slower song which had begun. Callie did not resist. She loved to dance.

"I said this has been fun," she said, shivering at the whisper-light touch of lips against lips. He was irresistible. She pressed closer, giving in, allowing herself to take that long smooth slide down the slope of temptation. She could still taste buttercream frosting on his skin, could smell the faint vanilla overlying his masculine cologne.

"I wish I could get closer," she murmured after a minute, frustrated with the impediment of the baby between them.

"I know. I feel like we have Miles between us," he whispered back, straight-faced.

Callie groaned. "You're making puns, now? That's it. I'm cutting you off."

"Just to be clear, you mean from drinks, right?"

"What else could I have meant?"

Frank just stared at her. After a moment, it dawned on her. "Oh. No, I wouldn't cut you off from that just for one pun. It's my wedding night, too, remember?"

"Am I likely to forget that?" He lowered his voice again. "Do you know what I want to do right now? I want to steal the rest of that cake and take you up to our hotel room with it and- "

"Revenge?" Callie protested, laughing. "You're going to begin our official married life with an act of revenge?"

"You started it." He was laughing now, too. He always looked younger when he laughed. Callie wanted to cover his happy face in kisses. Instead, she tried to frown at him.

"All I did was dab a tiny bit of frosting on your nose," she said loftily. "I think you should just be the bigger man and forgive me."

"Usually I'm all about taking the moral high ground," he said thoughtfully. Then he leaned in again, resting his forehead against hers, his eyes dancing. "Screw the moral high ground. I'm definitely going to lick frosting off some interesting places tonight."

"You're so bad!" Callie protested, laughing up at him.

"And you're stuck with me," Frank said agreeably.

They swayed together for a few minutes, happy and at peace.

"I don't think your parents have left the dance floor once since the moment you finished the mother-son dance," Callie commented after awhile, seeing Fenton and Laura swirl past. "They're adorable. And your dad has some serious moves!"

"Who do you think taught me?" Frank asked.

"I assumed it was Aunt Gertrude," she joked.

"Hey!"

Callie just grinned.

"Speaking of parents, your mother didn't come through the receiving line," Frank said quietly, a few minutes later.

"She was probably in a hurry to get back to the hospital before my dad noticed she was missing," Callie said.

"That's very Cinderella," Frank remarked.

"We can talk about this another time, okay?" Callie said tenderly. "Tonight's just for you and me. Their problems can keep."

Frank shook his head. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No. I want to keep my head in the clouds with you a little longer."

"We have a whole week for that," Frank said softly. "And by the way, I can't wait."

"I know. I can't wait, either," Callie said, wondering again _what has gotten into him tonight?_ Even more than the touching and the teasing, his unhesitating flow of words this evening almost awed her. It was a strange position- strangely powerful, and strangely vulnerable- to be the reason Frank Hardy lost himself in adoration.

"Maybe we should go upstairs now," she said.

Before Frank could reply, Tony breezed by, calling their names. "Come on," he added, beckoning them forward.

"What's going on?" Frank asked, blinking like a man awoken from deep sleep.

"They're going to do the Cupid Shuffle or the Macarena. One of those silly ones," Callie guessed, seeing their friends lining up toward the front of the dance floor. She looked at Frank and shrugged. "A few more dances?"

"We've been saying that all night," he grumbled good-naturedly, but he allowed Callie to lead him forward.

Callie got in line between Frank and Nancy, who turned to smile at her.

"Whose idea was this?" she asked.

Callie shook her head. "I don't know. Just be thankful it's not the Chicken Dance!"

Bess popped between them, suddenly, putting an arm around both Callie and Nancy. "When are you going to toss the bouquet, chica?"

"After this song," Callie said, feeling suddenly decisive. _Better to leave before I'm completely exhausted, or I'll just fall asleep the minute we get to our room._

"Why do you care?" Nancy asked Bess, who shrugged.

"I'm just nosy."

The music started, then. By the end of the dance Callie and Nancy had added their own choreography to the song's movements, and Callie's face hurt from smiling so much.

 _Maybe we could do "just one more song," again..._ she thought wistfully.

And then Frank turned and caught her eye, and she knew there was nothing she would rather do than leave, right now, with this man. Judging by the way he was looking at her, she thought Frank felt the same way.

Sure enough, as soon as he had returned to speaking distance he called "Ready to get out of here?"

Callie nodded. "Where's my bouquet? And are you going to go through with the garter thing?" Frank had been undecided about that particular tradition.

"Bess is bringing it over, and yes, I'll do it."

"Really?"

"I think I can bring myself to touch your leg for the sake of tradition," Frank said dryly. That reckless spark in his eyes was back.

 _Oh, yes. It's definitely time to go,_ Callie thought, with a little shiver of anticipation.

George caught the bouquet, much to her own displeasure and the amusement of everyone else. After the laughter died down, Joe carried out a chair for Callie.

"Please don't take it off with your teeth," she said, suddenly nervous. Frank shot her a look which plainly said _Would I do that?_ He was blushing, despite his earlier confidence. He knelt without any fanfare, slid his hand up her leg, paused at the top to kneel up and kiss her, and then hooked his fingers into the garter and tugged it off. George nearly caught that one, too, because Frank's shot went wide; but at the last minute Polly Shaw's date reached out and snagged it.

"There," Callie murmured, accepting Frank's hand as she got back to her feet. She stood still for a moment, wincing and absently smoothing a hand across her abdomen.

"Are you okay?" Frank asked quietly.

Callie nodded. "Your son decided to have a dance party up under my ribs. Come on, we'd better go before we get sidetracked again."

"Good idea!" Frank said fervently, taking her hand.

They were not leaving for their honeymoon until the following day, so there was no big send-off. Callie simply followed Frank from the room, turning once to blow kisses and wave goodnight to the gathered well-wishers.

It was quiet in the hallway. Callie could hear the throb of music playing behind the door she had just closed behind them, and knew that the party would probably keep going for another few hours, but she did not regret leaving. She felt tingly with excitement, gleeful as a child who is getting away with doing something long desired and forbidden.

"Why are we hurrying?" she asked, quickening her pace to keep up with Frank's long strides.

"I don't know," he said, checking himself.

"It's okay," Callie said quickly. "It felt right."

"Adrenaline, I guess," Frank said, pressing the elevator button.

"You always have an explanation," Callie said affectionately.

This late in the evening, there were no other hotel guests waiting for the elevator. When the doors slid open Frank playfully scooped her up and stepped in, and Callie twined her arms around his neck and kissed him for a very long moment before either of them remembered to push the button for their floor. He handed Callie his keycard and picked her up again at the door to their room.

"You don't have to carry me over every single threshold we come to," Callie giggled, leaning over to unlock the door for him.

Frank stepped into the room, nudging the door closed behind them with his foot, and kissed her again before setting her down. "Tradition," he said simply.

"Well, then, if it's tradition..." Callie said, letting her voice trail off. She had no real idea of where she had been going with that sentence. The reality of the moment was beginning to sink in. She was in a romantic old hotel, and it was her wedding night. She had not expected it to feel terribly life-changing, considering the fact that she had been with Frank for years and was expecting his baby; but somehow, it still carried weight. Callie found herself suddenly very aware of the fact that they were alone, for the first time all day- very aware of Frank's presence, in a way she had not been since they were teenagers- very aware of his hands holding hers, of the directness of his gaze, of the carefully hidden tension in the lines of his muscles.

 _He's nervous,_ she realized, with a pang of tenderness. She could see it in his stance, in the set of his jaw, in the way his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. When she looked into his eyes she could see the same nervous boy who asked her out all those years ago, and she could see the confident man who had supported her and comforted her and loved her every day since then. She could see all the years of their lives- all the first times, all the new experiences, the good and the bad- all rolled together and compressed into one look of love and hope and awe.

"Callie, are you crying?" His voice was gentle, and so was the hand he raised to brush away the tear which had fallen down her cheek.

"I've loved you for so long," she said, hoping he would understand.

He brushed away a second tear. "All my life," he said, kissing her. Callie closed her eyes and let the sensation wash over her, ready to welcome the re-ignition of the smoldering heat they had built up earlier on the dance floor. But it didn't happen. The kiss was nice- more than nice, really- but when it ended she was not breathless with desire. She was simply content. She rested her head against his shoulder and smiled.

"I'm hungry," Frank confessed, sliding his fingertips beneath her top button to toy idly with the zipper pull.

"Me too," Callie admitted. "But I didn't want to say anything and spoil the mood."

"Mood be damned. You need to eat," Frank said, releasing her to grab the room service menu off the dresser.

"You don't want to have sex right now because you know everyone downstairs thinks we're having sex!" Callie said, pointing a finger at him triumphantly. "Take that, Mr. Detective. Tell me I'm right."

Frank looked surprised for a moment before he laughed and reached for her, pulling her down to sit beside him on the edge of the bed. "You win, Mrs. Detective. It just feels...awkward."

Callie put a knee over and sat in his lap, facing him. She cupped his face in her hands and kissed him, lightly at first and then more deeply. "What happened to revenge? I believe your exact words were 'I'm going to lick frosting off some- ' "

"Crap. I forgot the cake," Frank grumbled, interrupting her.

Callie reached over and picked up the abandoned room service menu. "We could always order some," she said suggestively.

"I like the way you think," Frank said. He wrapped his hands around her hips and tugged her a little closer, though there was too much interference in the form of Callie's baby belly and her long, trailing skirt for real closeness. This time, Callie did feel heat building when they kissed.

Finally, Frank pulled away. "I guess I should call in our order," he said regretfully.

Callie slid off his lap. "I didn't even look at the menu yet," she reminded him. "And neither did you!"

Frank laughed. "I guess not. All right, then, let's take a look."

When the food arrived, and they had begun eating, Callie looked at them and could not help laughing. She had slipped off her shoes, and Frank had loosened his tie, but for the most part they were still in full formal attire, lounging against the pile of pillows at the head of the bed, balancing their meals on their laps.

"Is this not how you envisioned the wedding night going?" Frank asked, helping himself to a bite of her pasta.

"No, every girl dreams about eating ravioli in bed in her wedding dress," Callie said, fending off his fork as he came back for another bite. "Eat your own food!"

"I did already."

"Then eat your cake."

Frank smirked. "I have plans for that cake." He looked relaxed, now, and happy; his hair was ever so slightly tousled and there was a hint of mischief in his expression. Callie loved this side of him.

"Maybe you should demonstrate one of those plans," she said, setting her plate aside and reaching for him. They had just barely touched when a loud noise from the hallway jolted them both into stillness.

"Someone has a loud ringtone," Frank said, annoyed.

"I don't think that's a ringtone," Callie said. She had just recognized the song, and her instinct told her what was coming. "You didn't tell anyone our room number, right? Not even Joe?"

"Especially not Joe," Frank replied. "You don't think- "

He never finished the thought, because at that moment he got his answer in the form of raucous singing from the hallway.

" 'She was a fast machine, she kept her motor clean- ' "*

"Our friends are idiots!" Callie cried.

"And my brother is the chief idiot," Frank said. Callie listened a moment. It was true; she could hear Joe's voice over the cacophony of off-key singing.

"What are we going to do?" she asked, torn between horror and amusement.

"I've got this," Frank said coolly. He was already out of bed. Now he calmly plucked their half-empty bottle of sparkling cider from the ice bucket, which mainly contained ice water at this point, and lifted the ice bucket carefully. In the hallway, the singers had begun belting out the chorus, with a noticeable increase in enthusiasm.

"You shook me all night long!"

Frank headed for the door with the ice bucket.

"Frank, you can't!" Callie protested, giggling despite herself.

"Tell me they don't deserve it," he called over his shoulder.

Callie watched in amusement as Frank flung the door open and doused the group in the hallway with a well-aimed splash of icy water. The singing broke up in a confusion of yelps and laughter. Frank took a step out into the hall and for a few minutes all Callie could see of him was the one bare foot he kept in the doorway to prevent the door from locking behind him. A low murmur of conversation rippled through the partially-open door. Callie lay back against the pillows, considered getting up to join the conversation, and lazily dismissed the idea. It was much more pleasant just to lie back and rest her weary feet. Only when Frank returned, closing the door firmly behind him, did she prop herself up on one elbow again.

"What were you saying to them?"

Frank stalked back toward the bed, looking pleased with himself. "I just reminded them I know a few ways to hide bodies that can never be traced. They're not going to bother us again tonight."

"You did not," Callie said, sitting up.

"Okay, I didn't. I was just asking how they found us."

Callie raised an eyebrow, inviting him to explain. "How, then? And who?"

"The usual suspects. Biff, Tony, Phil, Ned, Chet, Burt, and my devoted brother, who bribed the kitchen staff to tell him the room number of anyone who ordered a room service meal with a non-alcoholic beverage after we left tonight."

"He's too smart for his own good," Callie said ruefully.

"Did you know," Frank said thoughtfully, "that the tradition of serenading a couple on their wedding night actually dates back to- " He paused and looked at her. "Never mind. That's not important right now."

"Save it and tell me on the drive tomorrow," Callie murmured, snuggling closer and melting into the warmth of his arms. Ordinarily, the historical background of the tradition would interest her; but tonight it seemed irrelevant. She had had her fill of tradition. Now she wanted nothing more than to pare her entire existence down to herself and her husband, together in this beautiful room.

Frank's fingers had found the zipper beneath her line of buttons, again. He eased it down a few inches and leaned over her side to press a kiss to the newly-exposed skin.

"You look more beautiful every time we get married. We should just keep doing this," he teased, following the descending zipper with another kiss. "Turn around so I can reach the end of this," he added.

Obediently, Callie turned and allowed him to continue his sweet, slow progress. She felt cherished, beautiful...and impatient. Before he even reached the bottom of the zipper she began to squirm free of the dress, peeling the lace sleeves carefully down her arms, standing to let the heavy garment slither off her hips and pool on the floor. She made no move to turn off the light. Here, with Frank, she felt neither shame nor insecurity.

"This time you have all the buttons," she complained, beckoning to him. He moved across the bed immediately and came to stand in front of her.

"Seems fair to me," Frank said, watching her deft fingers make quick work of opening his shirt.

Teasing gave way to kissing and kissing to touching, sliding fabric away from flushed skin, letting their desire build.

 _This time we don't have to stop. This time we have all night._

Suddenly Frank pulled back, slightly; and there was a harsh edge to his voice, almost a fierceness, when he said "I said 'as long as we both shall live,' earlier, but I don't think that was enough. I don't think even death could change how much I love you."

Callie felt tears brimming in her eyes again. She was lost to him, as she had been for so many years, and she did not know if she would be able to put even a shadow of that into words. She settled for burying her face in his shoulder and telling him "There's never been any doubt about that," in a tone as fierce as his own. She could feel his pulse there, strong and warm and real, and she could feel the mirroring pulse of his baby moving within her.

Callie pulled away, trailing a hand down his arm to link her hand with his and give it a tug. "Come to bed," she said.

And he did.

*AC/DC, "You Shook Me All Night Long"


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12: Honeymoon

 _Author's Note: Okay, so I lied- thanks to Cherylann Rivers for reminding me that there is actually a bit more plot I'd planned to wrap up in this chapter. I've tried to keep the honeymoon activities on the tasteful side, but I'll also put a definite page break before and after things become steamy, so those of you who prefer not to read it can flee._  
 _Again, heartfelt thanks to all my readers, especially those of you who have taken the time to write reviews. Your words always mean a lot to me!  
_

Frank opened his eyes, aware suddenly that he had been dozing.

 _How long was I out?_ he thought blearily, glancing skyward. The sun was now almost directly overhead. He must have slept for at least an hour with his head pillowed on the paperback in his hands.

 _I should get up before I get sunburned,_ he thought, not budging. Somehow, despite the impromptu nap and the almost oppressive heat, he still felt reluctant to move. Lying on the beach, doing absolutely nothing, was not typically his idea of a good time; but right now it felt good, damn good, simply to lie there, soaking up the warmth. So he stayed where he was: face-down on a beach towel printed with a surfing cow, ostensibly re-reading his worn copy of _The Maltese Falcon_ but really just lying there and letting the sun's heat, the sand, and the sound of the waves fill him with a lazy sense of well-being.

Beside him, Callie shifted in her beach chair. "Are you awake down there?"

"I'm awake." He rolled over and sat up, letting his gaze linger on the tanned slender curves of her body and the slightly ridiculous convexity where his baby lived. Before about nine months ago he had never given much thought to the appeal of the pregnant female form; but now, he could not get enough of Callie like this: happy, healthy, beautiful, and rounded with his child, a fact which made him feel warm in a way that had nothing to do with the sunny summer day.

"I dozed off for a few minutes, too," Callie admitted, setting her book aside. It did not escape Frank's notice that she had been holding it with the cover angled away from him, or that she deliberately set it cover-side-down. He reached out and lifted it with one finger, just enough to check out the title, and grinned.

"Don't start," Callie said, grabbing the paperback and shoving it into her beach bag. "I'm entitled to read a bodice-ripper now and then. A girl is under no obligation to be intellectual on vacation."

"Fine by me. Getting any good ideas?" Frank couldn't resist teasing her.

"That depends on how much role-playing you're up for. It's set in Victorian London."

Frank raised an eyebrow. "I'll be the virtuous and timid footman, and you can be the lecherous daughter of the Duchess."

"Frank!" Callie protested, giggling. "That's not quite what I had in mind."

Again, Frank felt a gentle wash of warmth with no external origin. He smiled back at her. "I think we've been doing all right on our own. We don't need any new ideas."

"Actually..." Callie said, twirling the end of her ponytail nervously, "I have a confession."

"Let me guess. Are you actually the daughter of a Duchess?" Frank said. "No, wait, let me try again. Are you a spy? Or a- "

"I'm trying to be serious here," Callie interrupted, releasing her ponytail. She looked slightly more at ease now. "Don't judge me."

"I promise."

"Okay. I brought that pocket edition of the Kama Sutra Joe gave you after our courthouse wedding."

"Oh?" Now it was Frank's turn to feel ill at ease. While he was certainly far from being a prude, he had always found the idea of planning sexual encounters as though perusing and choosing from a menu a little off-putting. "Why?"

"I thought it might be fun to take a look at it. Don't get me wrong, I love what we do," Callie said, reaching out to take his hand, "but with Miles getting in the way more and more, it can't hurt to explore a little, right? Maybe we'll find a few new things to try. Better now than after we let things get really limited and boring."

"Oh," Frank said again. "I should have thought of that."

Callie shrugged. "I didn't think of it, either. Bess was helping me pack, and she spotted it on our bookshelf. She recommended a few positions to try but she said the best thing is to just keep experimenting."

"That is much better advice than what I got from Biff," Frank said wryly.

"I don't even want to know, do I?" She was still looking at him, scanning his face. "Come sit under the umbrella with me awhile. I don't want you to get burned."

Obligingly, Frank got up and tugged his towel under the shade of the umbrella. "Do you have any water left?"

"I think so." Callie dug in her bag and handed him a black-and-white spotted travel mug. "You'd better drink the rest of that. You took an extra long run this morning and you've been lying in the sun for awhile."

"I've been keeping hydrated," Frank assured her, but he took a long swig as advised. He had indeed indulged in a longer-than-usual run that morning. It had felt good, a welcome contrast to all the relaxation.

Callie leaned back, sighing happily. "Can you believe we're really here?"

"We've been here for two days, so...yes?" He waited a beat, just long enough for her to turn and make a frustrated face at him, before he added "I know what you meant. And yes, it is a little surreal that we're actually on our honeymoon."

"That, and everything's been so perfect," Callie said. "It almost feels too perfect. I have to be dreaming this place."

Frank started to say something, but stopped himself. There was no need to point out the imperfections, as he had been about to do- the drama with her parents, their own quarrel, the very fact that they were here on Block Island, Rhode Island, instead of somewhere in the Caribbean as originally planned. None of those things were relevant right now.

 _Let it all go. Happiness is more important than accuracy, today,_ he admonished himself, adding aloud "If you're dreaming, don't wake up just yet. I'm really enjoying this one."

"Me, too." Callie reached for her travel cup and sipped some water. "I think the reception was worth the headache of planning it. I can't remember the last time I had so much fun. My face actually hurt from smiling so much."

Frank nodded. "Mine, too."

"Did you notice Nova and Jerry flirting with each other all night?"

Frank shook his head. "No."

Callie turned toward him, propping herself on an elbow, eyes bright. "And can you believe George actually left with Burt!"

"George left with Burt?"

"Um, yes. Where were you? This is the gossip item of the week," Callie teased.

Frank reflected on the way Ned had been looking at Nancy, considered divulging that to see where it rated on the gossip meter, and discarded the impulse. Ned was still his friend, after all, and Joe did not need his big brother fighting imaginary battles on his behalf.

"I didn't notice what most people were up to. I only had eyes for you last night," he said instead, gallantly.

Callie rolled her eyes at him but leaned in for a quick kiss. "Don't be saccharine, darling."

"It's the truth," Frank protested, feigning indignation.

"You're cute when you pout."

"You're cute...always."

Callie giggled. "I think they only broke up in the first place because they were both enlisting in separate branches," she said, returning to the subject.

"Who?"

"George and Burt!"

"Oh. Right," Frank said vaguely. His attention had drifted away toward simpler things: the way she adjusted the strap of her top, the sparkle in her eyes, the graceful curves of her sand-speckled ankles. Desire, which had lain dormant all morning, woke up and bloomed somewhere deep in his chest, looping bright tendrils lazily into his bloodstream. Suddenly, getting Callie back up to the room seemed more important than sunbathing or gossiping.

"Do you want to go back to the room and cool off a little?" he suggested. "I don't want you to feel overheated."

"How suspiciously altruistic of you," Callie said, smirking. "But isn't it about time for lunch?"

"It is, but we could use a shower and a change of clothes first," Frank pointed out. "I thought we could pick up smoothies from the cafe on our way back. That'll hold us over until we get a real lunch."

"I won't say no to that," Callie said. "The one I had yesterday was delicious."

Frank folded the chair and the umbrella and shook sand from their towels, watching Callie from the corner of his eye as she stood and pulled her cover-up over her bikini.

"You're staring," Callie scolded gently. "Didn't your mother teach you that's rude?"

"I'm just enjoying the view."

"My round self in a bikini is hardly the best part of the view!"

Frank swallowed hard. "Yes, it is." He could not begin to explain. Not here, on a public beach. He needed to get her upstairs.

"I probably shouldn't even be wearing this. But I'd already bought it for our honeymoon before I found out about this," she said, giving her middle a caress, "and I'm damn well going to wear it."

"You look incredible in it," Frank said.

Callie winked. "You don't look so bad, yourself," she said, reaching for his hand. Frank balanced the chair and umbrella in his other hand and gladly twined his fingers through hers, squeezing briefly as they began their walk back toward the hotel. He was still watching Callie, half-lost in the sway of her hips and the bounce of her ponytail, anticipating the privacy of their room. The knots at the back of her halter top had been driving him crazy all morning.

 _Two little tugs,_ he thought. _That's all it will take. Then I'll trace every tan line she has with my fingers, and again with my mouth, and then-_

"Why don't you just head upstairs, and I'll get the drinks?" Callie asked, interrupting his fantasy. Frank's confusion must have showed on his face, because she gestured at his armful of beach accoutrements.

"You're carrying everything else. I can get the drinks. Besides, I want to look into the hotel gift shop for a minute. I promised your mom I'd bring her a souvenir fridge magnet for her collection."

Frank's head had cleared. He nodded reluctantly. "Okay. I'll see you upstairs, then."

"I won't be long." Callie reached up to kiss him lightly before they parted ways.

"You'd better not be," Frank growled, catching her before she could step away and leaning in for a second kiss- quick, but full of promises.

"I'll be waiting," he told her, and headed for the elevator.

Upstairs, Frank stacked the chair and umbrella neatly on their tiny balcony and hung his sandy towel over the railing, the colorful fabric joining the scores of others in every color and pattern which fluttered from neighboring hotel room balconies and gave the whole scene a festival air. He paused, taking a moment to enjoy the view of the ocean and to appease his never-dormant detective's instincts with a quick survey of the beach below. Then, satisfied with the peace both of the activity below and of the scenery itself, he stepped back into the bedroom and looked it over with a critical eye. Their luggage was just as he had left it. Housekeeping had emptied the trash and left a stack of fresh towels in the bathroom. For a moment, he considered stripping off his already-dry swim trunks and getting a quick shower while he waited for Callie.

 _Better wait,_ he decided, the image of those tantalizing knots in her bikini top crossing his mind once more. _With any luck we'll both be sweaty again in a few minutes._ Instead he ran himself a glass of water from the bathroom tap, drank it, and settled on the bed to wait.

"You're going to have to move, Josephine," he said aloud, pushing a large, black-and-white-spotted plush cow toward the foot of the bed.

 _Oh, hell. I'm talking to a stuffed cow now. I'm adding that to my list of grievances,_ he thought, chuckling despite his attempt at dignified irritability. Truthfully, he was more amused than annoyed by the prank Joe and Nancy had pulled on them; and above all, he was gratified to have finally discovered the point of the conspiracy which had been plaguing him for the past several days. Joe's arrangements had become obvious as soon as Frank and Callie had set foot in this hotel room. Frank laughed again, remembering.

 _"There's been a mistake. This isn't the room we booked," Frank told the bellboy, turning to go. One glimpse of the room had told him that. He and Callie had reserved a much more modest room._

 _"Frank," Callie said from a few steps further into the room. Her voice was pitched oddly, as though she were on the verge of either tears or laughter. Frank frowned; but before he could go to her the bellboy spoke up._

 _"No, sir, there's no mistake. This is your room," he said politely. And then he actually grinned at Frank, dropping his professional demeanor, before adding, "And I have instructions to tell you to enjoy your honeymoooooon."_

 _"No," Frank said, his heart sinking. "No. They didn't." He thrust a folded bill into the hand of the now openly-laughing bellboy, closed the door, and turned to face whatever was in store for them._

 _The room was beautiful._

 _The room was also infested with cows. Everywhere Frank looked, he was met with yet another set of limpid bovine eyes. A large plush cow sat brazenly on their pillows. Two cow-printed beach towels lay folded at the foot of the bed. Two pairs of cow slippers were arranged beside the wardrobe. A matched set of Holstein-spotted travel mugs sat cheekily on the dresser. Even the generic hotel art hanging above the bed had been replaced with a watercolor of cows in a pasture._

 _"Look," Callie said, turning around. She was beaming, laughing, and holding something out toward him. "They even made us a vase. They must have gone to one of those paint-your-own-pottery places. It's really not bad. Which one was the artist, do you think?"_

 _"Nancy," Frank said, assessing the image automatically. His mind was whirling. This explained everything: the calls made from Joe's phone, the cow he had seen on the laptop that day at his parents' house, and even the online purchase which had been his first clue. Joe and Nancy must have ordered most of these items online and had them delivered to the hotel, where they had made arrangements for them to be placed in the room. Joe had probably impersonated Frank on the phone with hotel management._

 _Callie was still giggling. "What were we just saying on our drive up here? At least we're guaranteed not to find any livestock in our room this time?"_

 _"We're just lucky they didn't order a life-size cow sculpture," Frank said, his lips twitching into a reluctant smile. Then he laughed. It really was funny._

 _"Oh," Callie gasped through her own laughter. "Baby on the bladder!"_

 _She darted into the bathroom. Frank sat down on the bed, shaking his head in disbelief. The stuffed cow tipped over into his lap and he pushed it off, breaking into a new bout of laughter._

 _"Frank," Callie said, emerging from the bathroom, "you'll never guess what's in the bathtub."_

 _"Tell me it's not a live cow."_

 _"No!" That thought sent Callie off again. She sat beside him on the bed, leaning against his side and giggling helplessly, and had to catch her breath and wipe her eyes before she could explain. "It's just a really cute faucet cover."_

 _"Shaped like a cow, I assume?" Frank said dryly._

 _Callie nodded. She was reaching across him to pick up the stuffed cow. "We have to call her Josephine," she said, examining the toy. "Oh! And we totally have to have Miles's newborn photos taken with her!"_

 _"Do you really want to give Joe the satisfaction?" Frank said, keeping his tone light. He wrapped an arm around her and turned to rest his forehead against hers, looking down at the cow she was still holding in her lap. After a moment, Callie raised her face and brushed her lips against his._

 _"I've wanted to do this for hours," she whispered, kissing him again. Her mouth on his was sweet and hot and urgent. Frank heard himself moan softly as he gathered her closer, tangling one hand in her silky hair._

 _A dizzying interval later, Callie pulled back, reaching between them to extract the forgotten Josephine and toss her over to the unoccupied half of the bed._

 _"What did you mean about there being a mistake?" she asked._

 _Frank gazed into her eyes, reluctant to return his mind to practical things. They were lying side-by-side; his arms were around Callie, and she was combing her fingers lightly through his dark hair. Though Frank had never liked the idea of being petted, he always found Callie's touch soothing or stimulating. Right now it was a little of both. He reciprocated by pushing the strap of her sundress off her shoulder and caressing the bare skin there as he answered._

 _"I meant that this isn't the room we booked."_

 _Callie sat up. "We need to go tell somebody! I don't want to spend the extra money on- "_

 _"Cal," Frank interrupted._

 _She stopped talking, and thought for a moment. Then understanding blossomed on her face. "Joe and Nan," she said, lowering herself back down at Frank's side. "They didn't!"_

 _Frank nodded. "I think they did."_

 _Several hours later, when they finally made it out of bed, he discovered confirmation of Joe and Nancy's generosity in the form of an envelope tucked beneath the two Holstein-spotted mugs. Inside was a note which explained that the couple, who were aware that Frank and Callie had planned a simple honeymoon in the interest of saving money for the baby, had arranged for their room to be upgraded._

 _"They didn't just pay for the difference in room costs," Frank said shakily, scrutinizing the paperwork he had been handed when he checked in. "They paid for all of it. The whole week."_

 _Callie looked stunned. "Those beautiful idiots," she said softly. "It's too much!"_

 _"Don't cry," Frank said, abandoning papers and envelope alike to pull Callie back into his arms._

 _"I'm not crying," Callie mumbled into his chest, sniffing. Frank laughed and leaned over to snag a tissue from the box on the bedside table._

 _"Here."_

 _"Thanks." She sniffed again and dabbed at her eyes. "Your family still amazes me."_

 _"Our family," Frank corrected her. "And they amaze me, too."_

Frank smiled down at the stuffed cow, more tenderly this time. Even now that the initial surprise had worn off, he was still overwhelmed with gratitude for the gifts he and Callie had been given.

Several minutes passed. He was just beginning to wonder whether he should go in search of Callie when her key card clicked in the lock and she was there, tossing her sunglasses toward the dresser, dropping her bag on the floor, kicking off her sandals, and sinking onto the bed beside him with a happy sigh.

"Mango-peach or banana-strawberry?" she asked, proffering two condensation-beaded cups.

"You and your passenger get first pick," Frank said, having learned that lesson several months prior.

"The passenger has not expressed any particular desire for either one," Callie assured him, handing over the mango-peach. "But maybe the potassium in the banana will keep me from getting another leg cramp tonight."

Frank winced sympathetically. "I hope so."

The bed was comfortable, the room cool after the heat of the sun. The chill of his drink almost brought up goosebumps on Frank's arms. They sat side-by-side against the pillows, as they had on their wedding night. Callie closed her eyes, leaned back, and rested a hand on her belly. Frank's gaze followed her hand and lingered there, watching her body visibly shift and ripple as his son squirmed beneath her skin.

"That's so cool," he blurted out.

"It's the sugar in the fruit. It always gets him wiggling."

Frank reached over and rested a hand beside hers, feeling the baby's strong movements. "Does it hurt you when he does that?"

"Not usually. I can tell he's getting crowded in there, though."

"Not too much longer." He traced his hand along her abdomen, following the baby's movements. "What do you think his first words are going to be?" he mused.

"I haven't thought about it. I'm more worried about all the other firsts," Callie said softly. "There are so many things to get through before we get anywhere close to the point of him talking."

The fear in her voice pierced him with guilt. Frank forgot, sometimes, that Callie had struggled to come to terms with the surprise pregnancy. Whereas he had been immediately overjoyed, Callie had needed a few months to bond with the child she carried, to let her own joy take root; and even now she was more easily overwhelmed by the magnitude of the transformation all three of them were undergoing together.

"We'll get through it," he promised. "It's going to be okay, Cal."

"I know," she said, trying to sound natural. She took another sip of her fruit drink and smiled at him. It was almost convincing.

"Talk to me," Frank said.

Callie shook her head. "I'm just nervous. But I think it's a good nervous. He's...he's changing everything, but I already can't imagine life without him."

"I feel the same way," Frank told her.

They were quiet for a moment. Nothing more really needed to be said. And then the solemnity passed with a sudden glad exclamation from Callie, who swung her legs out of bed and hurried to retrieve her phone from her bag.

"I almost forgot," she said, returning to the bed. "Tansy sent me a link to a sneak preview of our wedding photos while I was waiting for our drinks."

Frank sat up and looked over her shoulder, wrapping his arms around her, as she pulled up their photographer's website on her phone.

"I can't wait to see these," Callie said, scrolling rapidly past the page's header.

"We just lived them three days ago," Frank said, laughing.

"Stop being sensible," Callie reprimanded, but she was laughing too. "Look at that one! And that one! These came out so good!"

"Look at my face in that one. I look like I'm going to sneeze."

"Frank Hardy, is that vanity I hear?"

"I don't want to look stupid in our wedding pictures!"

"You don't want to look stupid, ever," Callie said fondly, turning her face to kiss his cheek.

"That's a good one," Frank said, directing her attention back to her phone. He leaned in closer, too, inspecting the photo.

"I love candid dancing pictures," Callie said, zooming in a bit on the crowd.

"There's most of the guys from work," Frank said.

"And George and Burt in the other corner. Aww, and look at Joe dancing with Myra! They look so happy."

"Not as happy as we look," Frank said reaching around to zoom in closer on his own and Callie's faces. The photographer had captured Frank leaning in to whisper in Callie's ear, and Callie's upturned face glowing with a radiant mix of joy and mischief.

"Do you remember what you were saying?" Callie asked, scrolling down. Frank shook his head.

"Nope. Hang on, scroll back to that last one."

"It's not interesting. It's just me."

"Are you kidding? You're gorgeous. I definitely need a print of this one." Not that I'm ever going to forget the way she looked.

His tone had gone serious again, but he did not see that intensity mirrored in Callie's face when she set the phone aside and turned toward him. The look in her eyes, though heated, was playful.

"Why do you need a print, when you have the original?" She planted her knees on either side of his thighs, twined her arms around his neck, and looked up at him from beneath half-lowered eyelashes, clearly asking for a kiss.

"That is true," Frank said, obliging with a light, chaste kiss. "There are certain advantages to the original." Another soft kiss. He made no effort to hide the answering mischief in his own eyes.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

"Certain advantages you don't seem to be partaking in!" Callie said.

Another kiss, sweet and brief. When he pulled back Callie made a grumbling sound of discontent, and Frank laughed. "I'm just savoring the experience."

Callie leaned back and yanked her cover-up over her head, tossing it to the floor. She reached to untie her bikini top, and Frank lost his composure.

"No, you don't!" he said, covering her hand with his own. "I've been fantasizing about those damn knots all day. I'm going to untie them."

"That's more like it," Callie said.

"I know you think you won, but I really don't feel like a loser right now," Frank said, stroking his hands down her spine to undo the lower knot first. The two tugs he had imagined did not quite do the job; but Frank was good with knots. In a matter of seconds he had the top loosened. It slithered away, forgotten. Frank replaced the material with his hands, cupping her full breasts, stroking the soft skin gently.

"Is this okay?" he asked, mindful of how sensitive the pregnancy had made her body.

Callie's head was tipped back again. She hummed a soft noise of pleasure. "More than okay," she murmured.

Her tan lines were beckoning to him. Frank leaned in and followed the line left by her bikini strap over her right shoulder with a line of kisses, ending at the top of her breast. Warm salt air flowed in through the open balcony door; the whole world seemed to be moving in sensual slow motion.

Callie shifted in his lap, then, and the slow sweet friction of her movement stole Frank's breath. He pressed his face into the curve of her neck. Her skin smelled like sugar from the body scrub she had used that morning. Impulsively, Frank parted his lips and bit down lightly, tracing his tongue along her pulse point.

"Frank!" she gasped.

"You smell good enough to eat," he explained, nuzzling along her collarbone.

She smiled down at him, eyes half-closed with pleasure and happiness like a contented cat. "I won't complain," she said suggestively. Then, reluctantly, she added "No, that's not true. I will complain. I hate not being able to see you down there."

"It'll still feel good."

Callie shook her head. "It's not the same."

"Okay." He stood up, anyway, lifting Callie from his lap and setting her gently on the bed. "But I'll take these."

"Yours, too," Callie ordered, propping herself up on her elbows to watch him tug her bikini bottoms down her legs.

"Want me to turn on some music first?" Frank teased, straightening up and running his hands down his own torso. He hooked his thumbs in his waistband, just enough to offer a glimpse of previously-covered skin, and rolled his hips toward the bed, fully expecting the gesture to be met with giggles. To his surprise, Callie looked appreciative rather than amused.

"I've never had a lap dance before," she said, raking her gaze up and down his body.

Frank laughed. "Let me work on my choreography first. How does Valentine's Day sound?" He stripped off his trunks as he spoke, keeping his movements simple this time, and joined her on the bed.

"I'm going to hold you to that," Callie murmured, pulling him closer. "Abs like this deserve a little time in the spotlight."

"So I have until Valentine's Day to either learn to give a lap dance, or get fat," Frank joked, making a mental note to ask Joe for some pointers.

"If you can handle me looking like this, I can handle a little pudge," Callie said affectionately.

"Hey. You're beautiful," Frank said, cupping her face so he could look into her eyes. "Don't give me that face. I mean it. You're so damn beautiful, Cal." And then, because layering the words behind the veil of another language made him feel safer, he added "Я хочу тебя. Я хочу тебя всего расцеловать."

Callie interrupted the flow of Russian by pressing her lips against his, gently for a moment before leaving him astonished with an unexpected nip at his bottom lip. "I have no idea what you just said, but it sounded dirty."

"It was getting there."

"Are you planning to translate?"

They were lying side-by-side. Frank ran a hand down her thigh and hooked her knee up over his hip, pulling her body closer to his own. "I am translating."

"One of these days I'll teach you how to talk dirty in English," Callie teased.

"Why not start now?" he asked.

Callie put a hand flat against the center of his chest and pushed, gently but firmly, until he lay flat on his back. She straddled him again, reaching down to interlace her fingers with his. The position was intimate, vulnerable.

"Tell me what you want," she said silkily, rocking against him as she had done earlier.

"Fuck," Frank swore. Every nerve in his body had been set alight.

"In complete sentences, Casanova," Callie said, smirking down at him.

"I didn't mean it like that," Frank said; but he could not help laughing, because in essence that was exactly what he was asking of her.

"I think I'm better at demonstrating than explaining," he said, sitting up to kiss her.

"Okay, Hardy. Show me what you've got," she whispered.

And he did.

Later, as they lay spent and sticky and sated atop the rumpled sheets, Callie laughed softly.

"Being so close to the ocean brings back a good memory," she said.

Frank smoothed a stray lock of her hair out of his face and returned his hand to the breast he was still cupping in an appreciative, undemanding way. "A bed is much more comfortable than a speedboat," he said.

"I don't know," Callie said, turning to shine that sweet, pure smile on him. "I thought it was perfect."

She was talking about their first time. Frank remembered it vividly: the fireworks lighting up the bay with flashes of colored light, the Sleuth rocking gently on the waves. Callie had been wearing a white-and-navy-printed halter-top sundress and he'd had his hand on her bare thigh all evening, heart pounding, shaky with daring and desire.

"I was scared out of my mind," he confessed now, listening to the waves crashing on a different shore. "I thought I was going to scare you or hurt you. And I was positive Joe and my dad would know what we'd been doing."

"They probably did," Callie pointed out, unconcerned. "Didn't you know it when Joe lost his virginity?"

"Yeah, but that's because he jumped into my bed at 3 AM and woke me up to brag about it."

Callie laughed. "I should've guessed," she said, stretching lazily. "We really need to get up and shower or we'll never get lunch."

"I'm happy staying here," Frank teased, combing his fingers through her hair. He was joking, but when Callie rolled over and kissed him he felt genuine arousal stirring in his body again.

"Oh," Callie breathed. "Again?"

"Again," he growled.

She parted her thighs for him immediately, matching his desire with her own; and Frank sank between them with mingled gratitude and adoration.

 _Please, don't let me ever take this woman for granted,_ he thought, leaning in almost reverently to kiss her. _Today, tomorrow, for the rest of our lives, I'm going to make sure she knows she is my greatest gift. I swear it._

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

It was Callie who broke the long silence between them, afterward. She spoke without raising her head from his chest. She was curled on her side, resting her head on his chest, and he was playing with her hair.

"Frank?" she said.

"Hmm?" he answered drowsily.

"Why do you make such a point of staying fluent in Russian? Are you planning to get involved with...with him, again?"

She meant the Gray Man. Callie had never been comfortable with the brothers' affiliation with The Network. Frank quickly shook his head to reassure her. "No. Definitely not."

"Then why? What's the point? Are you still hoping to go back to work with Joe someday? Are you planning to change careers? Is it really that useful as a police officer?" She still looked anxious.

Frank sighed and sat up. "It's an old habit," he offered. "A reflex, like watching the news or studying people. We all do it. Joe keeps up his French and Arabic. Nan knows two or three Spanish dialects."

" 'We all do it,' " Callie echoed. "Do you hear yourself? You still think of yourself as a private detective."

"Deep down, yes. But I promise I'm not going to make any big decisions without talking to you about it."

"That means you're thinking about it."

"Yes." He thought for a moment. "I miss it," he said quietly. "I love police work, but working with Joe is just...it's easy. Intuitive. And I miss the variety, I guess. But I'm not planning any major career upheaval right now, honestly. It's not the time."

She looked less suspicious, now. "Okay," she said slowly. "I trust you. But we're going to talk about this some more after our vacation."

"It's a deal," Frank agreed. "Now, how about that lunch?"

"Yes, please," Callie said, brightening. "Dibs on the shower!"

"We could share," Frank said, following her out of bed.

"I'm already bringing an extra person with me. I need all the space I can get."

"That's a fair point," Frank conceded.

He made the bed while Callie showered, and showered while she blow-dried her hair. Over the noise of the hair dryer and the falling water he could just barely make out the sound of her humming. It took him a few moments to place the melody; but when he did, he laughed out loud.

"AC/DC?" he called.

"It's been stuck in my head since that night!" Callie called back merrily.

Frank shut off the water and reached for his towel. "Where do you want to eat?"

"Let's try a new place. What was that one we saw yesterday?"

"The one near the art gallery, the meditation garden, or the Maritime Museum?"

"Near the Maritime Museum," Callie said.

"I can't think of the name, but I know what you mean." He paused, transfixed suddenly by their reflection in the bathroom mirror, by the easy domesticity of the picture it showed him: himself stepping damp and nude from the shower, his wife setting aside the hair dryer and reaching for her makeup bag, his baby nestled in her womb.

Callie looked up and met his eyes in the mirror. "What are you thinking?" she asked softly.

 _I'm thinking about everything,_ Frank thought, swallowing hard. Callie's eyes were still on his, filled with patience and understanding. Frank had never considered himself an articulate man; but now, as always, Callie's presence gave him courage. He stepped forward and put his arms around her, turning her to look into her real eyes rather than her reflected ones.

"I'm thinking about home," he said simply. "I'm thinking about Miles. I'm thinking about Joe, and hoping he won't let fear keep him from finding with Nancy what we've found with each other."

Callie was still gazing at him, neither pressuring him nor interrupting him. With a surge of love and appreciation, Frank kissed her before continuing.

"I'm thinking that I hope Miles has your courage and your passion, your strength, your creativity. I hope we can take what we've learned from our own parents, the good stuff and the bad stuff, and give him the best of ourselves. Don't cry, Cal."

"I'm just happy," she said.

Frank brushed away a tear with his thumb. "So am I," he told her. "I love you. I love our life together."

Her eyes filled with tears again. She said his name, nothing more- but somehow, a whole universe of meaning was in that one syllable. Her arms went around his neck and her lips crashed against his in a kiss that lit up his entire being like sunshine after a storm, like water after thirst.

 _As long as we both shall live._ The words surfaced, unbidden, in Frank's mind, comfortable as his oldest jeans and thrilling as the start of a mystery. _As long as we both shall live, and for all eternity,_ he vowed.

Frank smiled against Callie's lips. The future belonged to them, together. It had never looked brighter.


End file.
